


In Touch with the Ground

by thejillyfish



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Character Development, Character Study, Developing Relationship, Flashbacks, Friendship, Gen, Mythology - Freeform, Original Character(s), POV Multiple, Post Season/Series 02, Post Season/Series 02 AU, Season/Series 03, Slow Burn, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-08-14
Updated: 2012-08-28
Packaged: 2017-11-12 04:29:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 28,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/486706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thejillyfish/pseuds/thejillyfish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[imaginary season 3 fic]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm only tagging Derek, Scott, and Lydia as characters because they're the POV characters, but you can pretty much expect a fair amount of read time for all of them. 
> 
> [EDIT 2/19/14] This fic has been on hiatus for so long and I will PROBABLY never finish it because Teen Wolf has been more annoying than inspiring lately. I should honestly just delete it, but I did love my ideas for this fic. So I'm keeping it up for sentimental values.

_Sunlight streamed into a library through tall, glass windows. The sun was in such a position in the early morning that its light filtered right into the room, spilling across the furniture and shelves.  Volumes that lined the walls were old and tattered, mixed in with new editions on similar subjects. On the floor lay several discarded books, and others had been left on a chair or table. A modestly sized library, the room was not so large that one would be overwhelmed by its size. But, not many modern homes had libraries anymore. This library sat in the corner of a house larger and peculiar enough to have such a room._

_A small boy stood on a stool in attempts to reach a book much higher than his height. He already had a stack of rather large books in one hand, much larger than a child of his age would typically read, and he was standing on the tips of his toes, trying to reach a book with golden binding. The child, likely around the age of six or seven, was a dark-looking child. Not because of his black hair, hooded hazel eyes or his tan skin. This was a matter of the presence he emitted, and despite how much sunlight spilled into the library, the shadows found him._

_Inevitably, his task proved to be too much for his small limbs to handle. The large stack of books in his left hand toppled over onto the floor, and brought the child with them in a loud thud._

_“Agh!”_

_The boy pushed a few of the books that had landed on him off. His left arm was throbbing, him having landed on it. He bit his lip as he gingerly lifted his sleeve and saw a large bruise already forming around his elbow. Truly, he was in enough pain that a child of that age would want to cry, cry for help. But he knew better. The pain wouldn’t last for long, and surely enough the beginning signs of injury retreated before his eyes._

_Then, the door to the library opened and a woman popped her head in._

_“Derek?”_

_The boy, Derek, lifted his head and regarded his mother sheepishly. She examined the scene her son had caused, noting the placement of the chair and the scattered books, and sighed. Stepping toward him, shaking her head, she said, “you never know how to ask for help, do you?”_

_Derek lifted himself slightly, “I thought I could reach it.”_

_His mother crossed the room, “Which book?” and her son pointed to the golden book on the topmost shelf. She reached it easily, and began flipping through the pages. As she did so, he eyebrows began to rise significantly. When she gently closed it, she glanced down at the other books her son had collected. Finding something similar amongst all the books’ subjects, her expression grew grim._

_“Aren’t these books a little old for you?”_

_Picking up one of the books that had fallen, this one titled_ Celtic Creatures and Myths _, Derek said to his mother without meeting her gaze, “I wanted to know.”_

_She tilted her head, “Know?”_

_“About... me. What I am.”_

_Kneeling down on the floor, Derek’s mother came close to him. Her expression was still worrisome, but she had a kind, caring glint in her eyes that comforted him. Though his mother could be very stern, even scarily so, Derek found her to be the most compassionate person he knew. She had a warm face, round and bright. Not like Derek’s. Instead, Derek inherited his father’s sharp features. But as his mother’s hazel eyes watched him carefully, he noted that those were the one thing he got from his mom: his eyes._

_Gently, his mom placed a hand on the book in Derek’s lap and spoke very softly, “You mean, why when you fall from a chair, your bruise goes away? Or when you’re on the playground and you get scratched, you heal and your friends don’t?”_

_Derek nodded, “And why when the moon is full, I have bad dreams and Laura does too, and Dad and everybody goes away.”_

_“We talked about this, remember?” his mother said, “you will know one day, but right now you are too young to understand.”_

_“I am not!” Derek insisted, “Laura knows, doesn’t she? She’s not that much older than me, but she won’t tell me anything. Can’t you tell me?”_

_A skeptic look grew on his mother’s face, like he might have convinced her to give him something. Her hazel eyes studied her son’s face, and they wandered over the books around them. In return, Derek watched his mother, anxious and hopeful. He saw her expression change to wonder, to doubt, to something he couldn’t interpret._

_“Derek,” she said softly. Derek perked up, waiting. Was she going to tell him, finally, why his family was different from all the rest._

_His mother looked back down at the golden book and a smile appeared on her face, “Mythology is very important to us. And you’re smart, you must have figured that out. Or else why would you have books here of myths and lore from all these different places from around the world? But these are my favorites.”_

_She smoothed her hand across the book, which was titled_ Tales from Greek Mythology _. Derek didn’t speak as he watched her open the pages._

_“There is one story that reminds me of you,” she told him._

_“Of me?”_

_“Yes,” she smiled and seemed to have found the page she was looking for, “of you, my brave son. The story of a young man named Icarus, who flew too close to the sun. You see, him and his father were prisoners of a king, but his father Daedalus was a smart man. He built them wings of wax so they could fly away and escape their captivity. But do you know what happened to his son?”_

_Derek shook his head._

_His mother turned the book around to show him a sketched picture on one of the pages. The drawing depicted a bright, glaring sun and two figures in the sky. One flew far below the sun, but the other toppled back, looking as if it were falling._

_“Despite that his father warned Icarus that the sun’s heat would melt the wax of their wings if they were to fly too close, Icarus didn’t listen. He was too excited, too thrilled by freedom and power. When he flew high enough for the sun’s rays to melt his wings away, he fell to the Earth, and died.”_

_Her son gulped, not entirely sure what she was trying to convey. Derek looked down and the wings sketched into the page and back up at his mother._

_“Mom, am I a bird person or something?”_

_His mother laughed gently, using one hand to reach up and stroked Derek’s hair and cheek._

_“No honey, but you are special,” she was smiling at him, but Derek thought his mother looked sad, “special and free and powerful, but there is a price. A price that all of us have to live with.”_

_Confused, Derek merely frowned at his mother who continued to pet him._

_“We are blessed with something extraordinary but dangerous, and that is why I cannot tell you yet. Because you, my ambitious little boy, could use that power to reach too high and I am afraid you will fall, like you did just now. And one day, you won’t be able to heal from it.”_

_Derek could only blink confusedly at her, and his mother leaned in and planted a kiss on his forehead. She bent even further to whisper in his ear._

_“Be wary of the sun, my son, and those creatures that dwell in it. We are animals of the moon.”_

_When she leaned back from him, the room was on fire. Derek’s eyes widened in panic, and screams that sounded like they were right in his ear erupted from somewhere in the distance. Somehow, his mother remained calm, her eyes boring into him._

_“You’re falling, Derek.”_

_And the flames consumed her, and there was nothing but pain and death._

Derek Hale’s eyes snapped open. His skin was scorching, and for a moment he believed that the fire from his dream was real, that it was happening all over again. But he quickly realized, blinking his eyes awake, that he was safe. At least, safe from flames. Sweat glistened on his skin, and he felt sticky and gross. _That’s right_ , he thought, _it’s a heat wave_. It had been a stubborn 98 degrees for almost a week now.

Besides that, there was also deafening noise coming from all around him. Sitting up, Derek listened. Was this ruckus what woke him up? From the sounds of it, it sounded like... construction? Drilling, hammering, and electric sawing sounds were all penetrating the walls of his house from outside.

Why there was such a commotion, though, was not the first thought that popped into Derek’s mind once he gained more consciousness. What was concerning him, rather, was the unnerving dream he had just had.

It had been years since he dreamed of his mother, or even the fire that she died in. Sure, after the fire had happened all those years ago, he had nightmares afterwards for years. But this... this was different. The dream was so vivid it could have been real, but Derek was almost positive he didn’t have such a memory of his mother. That day that he dreamed of had never happened. And, furthermore, in that dream he appeared to be just a child. He was much older than that when the fire actually happened.

For now, Derek’s interpretations of his dream would have to wait, because people were shouting outside. He had moved back into the Hale family mansion’s remains, along with his uncle. It was still decrepit, hazardous blackened ash on the inside, but Derek was low-maintenance. The place was once his home, and it was familiar if not haunting. However, from the sounds of it, Derek’s uncle was having the place cleaned up a bit.

Stretching, Derek rose from the burned, broken mattress he had to sleep on. The floor creaked as he stood and it amazed him that it didn’t merely give way from under him. Once more, he heard shouting from outside, words masked behind the noise of power tools. Derek pulled on a tattered shirt as he made his way out of his room and down the stairs. This was all definitely Peter’s doing and Derek was the least bit thrilled about it all.

As soon as Derek stepped onto the porch, the noises reached a whole new octave of _loud_. There were trucks parked all over his front lawn, and surely enough construction workers - many shirtless in this heat - were walking around carrying tool boxes and plywood and nothing Derek really wanted to deal with this early in the morning.

“Can you be careful with ground over there please! I do _not_ want that area dug up!” A voice shouted from around the side of the big house. That was his uncle’s voice.

A low growl escaped Derek, but it wasn’t like anyone was paying attention to him anyways. He stormed down the porch and around the house’s corner. Surely enough, there was his uncle Peter, talking to one of the construction workers animatedly. He seemed to be directing him on something, and there was a blueprint unfolded in his hands.

It had been a few months since Peter Hale had, well, _risen from the dead_. His death had never been on record, either. The hospital just thought he had run away, or the famous Beacon Hills mountain lion had dragged him away for dinner. But, when he strolled into the hospital playing the part of a victim of an abduction crime, the public saw it as a miracle. He had even used make-up to fake his burn wounds until he pretended to hire a plastic surgeon to fix him. So, with Peter Hale officially alive, cured, and free of any homicidal charges despite those he committed, the rights to the Hale House fell into Peter Hale’s hands. Derek was pretty sure Peter made it that way to spite his nephew. And now, he was taking it one step further.

Well, Derek wasn’t going to wait for his uncle, who knew Derek was there, to acknowledge him. Derek marched over to the man, yelling over all the noise, “What the hell is all this?!”

Peter turned to him as his worker departed to take care of whatever business he had. His uncle blinked in mock shock, “Oh, did all this noise wake you up? Sorry about that, but work’s gotta get done.”

“You the hell do you think you’re doing?” Derek reiterated, gesturing to all work around them.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” Peter asked, “I’m returning this house to its former glory.”

Derek wanted to slit his uncle’s throat all over again, “You can’t just -”

“Derek, please,” Peter sent him a condescending look, “we can’t really just live in a house that is threatening to cave in everyday. Don’t you miss it’s bright, shiny walls?”

When Derek only continued to glare at him, Peter sighed and began walking back around to the front of the house. Derek followed him, fuming.

“You have to send them away. What if they find something? You know Laura’s buried out back and... everyone else... there’s tons of supernatural things around here that will give us away!”

“Don’t you think I’ve thought of all that?” Peter countered, “Don’t worry, Derek, I’ve got it all under control.”

“You?” Derek almost scoffed.

“Look at this,” Peter pouted, “I try fix up the house you grew up in and I get reprimanded.”

“Just call them off,” Derek growled.

Peter shook his head, “You’ll thank me for this one day.”

“Unlikely.”

“Sorry, Derek. You might enjoy sleeping in a hazardous dump, but I don’t. And I don’t think Isaac does either.”

Derek frowned. Isaac Lahey had been living with him and Peter at the house ever since the kanima disaster. The high school senior unfortunately didn’t have any family that would take him in after his abusive father was murdered, and he really didn’t have anywhere else to go. In a way, Derek sympathized. The only person left around him from his family was the one person he didn’t want: Peter.

Looking around, Derek asked, “Where is Isaac, anyways? Does he know about all this?”

Peter shrugged, “He knows, but he’s off, I don’t know, practicing lacrosse or whatever Beacon Hills teenagers do during the summer nowadays.”

Derek looked back at his uncle and noticed something about him for the first time that morning, most likely distracted by the construction.

“Are you wearing a suit?”

Smugly straightening his tie, Peter answered, “Why yes, yes I am.”

“Why?” Derek grimaced.

“Because, _young man_ ,” Peter smirked, “I have a job interview.”

“What.”

“You can’t pay the bills just by howling at people, Derek,” Peter said, “geez, kids today. So spoiled. You know, it wouldn’t kill you to find a job either, Derek. How old are you know? You’re no spring chicken either, and it wouldn’t kill you to contribute a little something around here. I mean, it is _my_ savings paying for this rebuild.”

Derek gaped at his uncle, “You...! You can’t just get a job and fix up this house and draw all this attention to us! That’s now how it works, you’re a -”

“- a _contributing member of society_!” Peter chimed in when a construction worker passed them. He threw Derek a disapproving look. Derek bit the inside of his cheek, beyond frustrated.

“Don’t you think this’ll all be,” Derek continued, his voice a bit lower, “a little obvious? There are alphas after us, remember?”

Peter’s expression became a bit more serious, but it didn’t erase the smug twist in his mouth.

“Those guys? They left their calling card on our _front door_. It’s not like they don’t know who we are or how to find us already. Besides, what I’m doing will make it even harder for them.”

“Oh really?” Derek wasn’t buying it, “How?”

“Because,” Peter said, “it’d be easy for them to take out a couple of nobodies that nobody in Beacon Hills knows about. Derek, if anything had happened to you a few months ago, no one would notice you were gone. But, if the town notices a few new compadres stroll into town and then a few others go missing? That’s suspicious.”  
  


Derek didn’t want to admit that his insane uncle had a point. However, he was accurate in saying that Derek Hale was a mysterious figure in Beacon Hills that many thought was a serial killer or possibly a ghost. The most troublesome part is that all those things are what Peter truly is, and the town saw him as a miracle case.

Just then, Peter’s cell phone rang. They were probably only able to hear it over all the power tool noises because of their super hearing. Peter answered it hastily.

“Hello? Oh, yes! Good to hear from you!” Peter put his hand over the phone’s speaker and mouthed to Derek, ‘it’s important,’ before walking through the front door and leaving Derek on the porch.

Derek was left to face the unnerving symbol painted on his front door months ago. He refused to wash it off, whether to leave it as a warning for himself or just because he didn’t want to look weak if the alphas were watching. Having a similar symbol tattooed on his back, Derek was familiar with the sign. It was like the triskelion, but instead of spirals, the edges were straight. What it meant was that a pack of alpha wolves were coming their way. But when?

Actually, Derek was beginning to become more and more unsettled. Beacon Hills, a town that had been tortured by werewolves and kanimas for months had been peaceful since the beginning of April. But, after Jackson Whittemore went from ferocious lizard monster to blue-eyed werewolf, and Gerard Argent disappeared, and Peter Hale is seemingly a society man (for now), everything had been calm.

And Derek didn’t like it.

Something was wrong, because if the alphas were already in Beacon hills - which they clearly were indicated by the reformed triskelion on his front door - why hadn’t they acted? What were they waiting for?

Derek Hale was an impatient, impulsive man and sitting around, waiting to be surrounded by uber wolves made his hairs stand on edge. If all this nothing kept up he might end up following his uncle’s advice and get a job. Which... Derek had never really thought about. He didn’t even get to finish high school, and he’d been running for half his life. Since when did he have time to worry about a career?

Besides, his people skills were miniscule, even he would admit. During these previous three months, he’d had minimal human interaction. Mostly, he saw Peter and Isaac. He trained with Isaac and argued with Peter. Although, even Isaac was becoming scarce lately. The boy preferred spending his time elsewhere, particularly with Scott McCall.

Isaac was supposed to be Derek’s beta. It was Derek who gave Isaac the bite. Scott wasn’t even an alpha wolf; he was practically an omega. He probably _was_ an omega. At some point last March, Derek lost a great deal of Isaac’s respect, and instead Isaac looked up to his classmate.

Derek’s other two underlings, Erica and Boyd, disappeared last March after the Argents set them free. Derek hadn’t heard from either of them, and frankly he wasn’t surprised. He had failed to help either of them, to save them from Gerard Argent’s reign of terror. Hopefully, they were safe somewhere, but that didn’t stop the sickening guilt that stirred in Derek’s stomach when he heard about how their parents continued to search for them. 

So, there really wasn’t anyone else around for Derek. With no mysteries or monsters at the moment, Derek didn’t see Scott McCall anymore. Scott had never really wanted to see Derek at anytime in the first place, and now Scott was free to avoid him. His girlfriend, Allison, stopped hunting Derek down, also, which she had been adamant on after the death of her mother. Derek appreciated that, anyways.

Then there was Lydia Martin in Jackson Whittemore, who both definitely hated Derek. For a while, Derek believed Jackson would seek him out to learn more about becoming a werewolf, but he never did. After all that happened after Derek bit him, Jackson wouldn’t trust him. Most likely, he had consulted Scott when his first full moon rolled around. No one had gotten hurt, and that’s all that mattered to Derek.

That settled most of the connections Derek had made in Beacon Hills in the last six months. None of them were relationships Derek was necessarily proud of, but Derek never really concerned himself with making friends, anyways. Maybe, if they stayed away from him like this, they would all be spared from the wrath of the alpha pack that would inevitably descend one day soon.

“I’ve got great news, nephew!”

Peter had stepped back out onto the deck, beaming. The expression really didn’t suit him, making him look more like a maniac.

Derek didn’t respond in any other way than a huff of air, but Peter continued happily anyways.

“A reporter from The Beacon - you know, that pathetic town paper? anyways - wants to do a story on the renovation of our house! Isn’t that great? You’ll get your name in there, clear up all the bad juju around you in town. Hey, maybe a girl will even be interested in you, eh?”

But Derek wasn’t interested in any of that. Right now he was only interested in wringing his uncle’s throat.

“ _What_?!”

“Hey, this is a big deal!” Peter exclaimed, “I mean, this house _is_ the biggest property in Beacon Hills. Probably the oldest, too. I bet the town would love to see it up and running again.”

Derek thought he might actually snap, he was so mad. His uncle was definitely insane. Didn’t he realize that he was practically inviting the town to share their secret? Inviting the alpha pack to their front door?

“You - I - I’m gonna - !” Derek fumed incoherently. Peter merely tisked him.

“I would love to stick around and listen to you scold me some more, but my interview is soon. Remember, bills to pay? Anyways, we’re practically out of food. You don’t want the kid to starve, right? Be a sport and run to the market today and stock up. By the way, though, I’m taking your car.”

Peter jingled the keys in front of Derek’s face before snatching out of reach. Without another word, Peter retreated to the camaro and left Derek behind with two dozen construction workers, a to-do list, and no car. Wasn’t _Derek_ supposed to be the alpha wolf?

Furious and incapable of doing anything about his situation, Derek stomped back into the house to change, slamming the front door behind him and shaking three stories of crispy house. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scott's turn. A bit shorter than the last chapter, but das okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i changed the title of the fic because Duran Duran. [edit] LAUGHING BECAUSE THIS IS THE EXACT OPPOSITE OF WHAT SCOTT DID IN THE ACTUAL THIRD SEASON WITH ALLISON oh man.

Scott McCall checked his phone for the fourteenth time this morning. 

And nothing.

If he were being honest with himself, he wasn’t expecting much. Ever since the first day of summer, Scott would text Allison a simple “good morning” when he woke up, even if that time of day wasn’t necessarily morning anymore. That was all he ever text her anymore, that and a “good night” occasionally. He never got any response, but he just wanted to know he was there fore her. Scott knew she need her space, but he was also worried about her. 

After the fiasco with her grandfather, and Scott and Allison had decided to take a break - well, Scott decided to take a break, Allison was unsure where they were going - Allison had been distant from everyone, not just Scott. It was understandable, seeing as how her mother died right after her aunt, and Gerard turned out to be a complete manipulative psychopath. She went to school afterwards, of course, but didn’t really talk to anyone besides Lydia sometimes. Then Allison began attending school less often. Finally, around the final weeks of the school year, she stopped going altogether. 

When Scott had asked Lydia if she knew anything about it, she said no, but Scott kind of got the feeling she wasn’t telling him everything. He had pushed her a little further for information, but Scott was no match for Lydia.

She had practically yelled at him, “Scott! Allison went through something really traumatising, we all did! When she wants to talk to you, she will, but you know it’s not that easy dating a werewolf and I know exactly how true that is, now!”

That was true enough, Lydia certainly did know. Lydia had been immediately filled in on the supernatural details they had kept from her for so long. After all, it would have pretty hard to continue lying after she saw Jackson both lizarded out and wolfed out in one night. She took it surprisingly well, but there was still a price. Lydia and Jackson were no longer the power couple at Beacon Hills High School. Lydia was still considered crazy and possibly cursed, and after Jackson apparently rose from the dead after their last lacrosse game, people thought he was a freak too. 

Scott had to admit, though, their misfortunes had given them a slightly new outlook on life. They were probably just happy to be alive and together, unbothered with popularity contests. Well, it still bothered Lydia, but Scott was pretty sure she’d reclaim her Queen Bee title in senior year. 

As for Jackson, he was still a pretty big jerk, but less so after harboring the guilt of half a dozen deaths and owing Scott and company for one or two things during his kanima days. He was still best friends with Danny, and that was probably what mattered most to Jackson, that he had Danny and Lydia. 

However, Scott still had to deal with him. Jackson had reluctantly sought out Scott when Jackson’s first full moon as a werewolf had rolled around. Well, Scott certainly wasn’t going to risk the lives of innocent people with Jackson Whittemore on the loose again, so Scott had helped. It had been less difficult than Scott had imagined, since Jackson already had an anchor in Lydia. The first full moon was rough regardless, but the next two were easy. Actually, the last one had been rather hilarious seeing as how Lydia had gotten him on his back as she rubbed his tummy. Stiles had recorded the whole thing on his phone and had threatened to keep it to use it as blackmail.

But then Jackson threw it at the wall. 

So really, Scott’s only worry was Allison. She was the only mystery in his life right now. He still had his job with Dr. Deaton, and school. Oh yeah, he hadn’t exactly been able to save his grades in all his classes, so Scott was doing summer school so he didn’t have to repeat junior year. It wasn’t that bad, having to only take two classes, one of them being economics with Coach Finstock who wanted to be there probably less than Scott did. Plus, it kept his mind off Allison. If things had been different, he would be fighting summer school just to be _with_ Allison. 

With that thought, Scott checked his phone again. It would just be nice for him to know Allison was alive, or even still in Beacon Hills. He had passed by her house every so often, and Chris Argent’s black SUV was still there. Apparently the family hadn’t moved, but that didn’t necessarily mean Allison was in the house. 

Sighing, Scott began rising from his bed finally. The time was, what? Scott checked his clock. It was only ten o’clock in the morning, which he thought was pretty early for a Saturday in the summer. But, his mom was working the night shift at the hospital that night, and he had been smelling her breakfast from his room all morning. His mom rarely cooked breakfast, usually because she’s running to work or because she’s simply unbothered, and Scott can make himself cereal. It smelled damn good today, though, and just maybe he could get some bacon and eggs for himself. 

Pulling on some sweatpants and a t-shirt, Scott checked his phone once more. Stiles says Scott’s being obsessive whenever he notices Scott checking his phone like this. Scott wouldn’t call it obsession, he’d just call it love. Which, Scott thought Stiles would understand with his best friend’s lifelong crush on Lydia, but that was a sore spot nowadays. 

Scott pocketed his phone to bring downstairs and finally left his room. As he made his way downstairs, he surprisingly heard his mom talking to someone in the kitchen.

“... is always hogging the good shifts during the school year,” his mom was saying, “but once summer rolls around she backs off. I mean, it’s fine now but seriously? A lot of us are moms, you know.”

Oookay, Scott thought. But who was she talking to? He sniffed the air, and underneath the aroma of breakfast foods, Scott found a scent he recognized very well by now. And he was thankful it wasn’t a threat.

“At least you were able to make a lot of the lacrosse games this year,” Isaac Lahey was telling his mother when Scott entered the kitchen, “Although... I mean, some of them were better left unattended, if you know what I mean.” 

“So _this_ is why you cooked breakfast!” Scott accused his mother. She turned to face him, pan in one hand and spatula in the other.

“Well look who decided to join the world.”

“Good morning, Scott,” Isaac said, waving a piece of bacon before taking a bite.

Scott nodded a greeting before addressing his mother again, “Is any of that for me, or did you just cook it for Isaac?”

His mother shook her head, “I cooked it for me and Isaac.” 

“Oh come on,” Scott whined, “you never cook me breakfast!”

“Yeah, well,” she turned back to the stove, “you never cook me breakfast either.”

“I did the once.”

“Isaac’s new, and I like him.”

“More than your own son?”

“Yes,” she offered Isaac a playful smile, which he returned. At least Scott was pleased that they were getting along.

Isaac had actually been around their house a lot lately. Even when Scott wasn’t home because he was at school or at work, he’d come home to find Isaac there helping his mom around the house. Scott didn’t really mind, though he felt bad that Isaac ended up doing a lot his chores that Scott would have gotten to eventually. He thought Isaac felt obligated to do something in return for Mrs. McCall for her letting him spend so much time there, and for Scott for all the help Scott had given him. And, Scott understood that Isaac was probably really lonely. Erica and Boyd had disappeared, his parents were gone, and Scott could assume that the Hales weren’t the warmest of company to live with. So, naturally, Scott was more than happy to spend time with Isaac. 

It didn’t hurt, either, that Isaac was a fellow werewolf and already shared a lot of Scott’s life and was also a decent and pretty cool guy. Scott genuinely enjoyed spending time with him, and he was pretty sure his mom did too.

Scott grabbed a plate, sat at the table next to his friend and began stabbing at the food in front of him. Soon enough his dish was almost overflowing. Growing werewolves needed to eat.

“So,” his mom began, “are you two going to the field today or something?”

Scott nodded, a mouthful of food, “Ja, wib Steyes.”

His mom stared at him, “...What?”

“With Stiles,” he repeated after swallowing, “I mean, I think. I’m pretty sure. I haven’t actually texted him yet this morning.”

“But I can guess who you have texted this morning,” his mom said, a bit of a twist in her lips.

“Allison?” Isaac asked, “how’s that going?” 

Scott shrugged, letting his face grow slightly warm in embarrassment.

“I don’t know,” Scott said, pushing food around his plate, “I still haven’t heard anything from her. But, I’m pretty sure it’ll be soon now!”

Isaac gave him a skeptic look, but nodded in encouragement. Scott could tell Isaac thought that Scott was kidding himself, and Scott kind of agreed with him. He couldn’t think in the negative, though, not with Allison. He was sure they were meant to be together. 

As Scott shoved another fork full of eggs into his face, his phone buzzed on the table. He dived for it so suddenly that Isaac jumped. 

“S-sorry,” Scott muttered and anxiously looked at his new message.

 _Do you think Charmin toilet paper is significantly softer than Angel Soft?_ Stiles had sent.

He should have known.

Scott sighed in disappoint, but answered anyways.

_what r u even doing?_

Stiles’ response was prompt, as usual, _Shopping. Angel soft is cheaper but I think Charmin is better quality._

Even though Stiles couldn’t see him, Scott shrugged when he read the text. He typed: _i guess it depends on how concerned about ur butt u r_

Right after Scott sent that text, he sent another one directly after it. 

_isaac and i are going to the field today ur coming right??_

Surprisingly, Stiles took a few minutes longer to reply than usual. Scott had a couple of helpings in the meantime.

 _ya but I have to finish shopping for my dad. I’ll meet you at the field._ Scott smiled. His best friend had been pretty serious about improving even more at lacrosse ever since he won them the championship. That had been one game, though, one filled with adrenaline and panic. Also, all the power houses like Scott, Isaac, and Jackson had been off the field. Scott and Stiles wanted to make sure Stiles stayed consistant now that he had a chance at first string.

Of course, they had a ways to wait. Lacrosse was a spring sport and they wouldn’t be worrying about it that Fall when school started. Still, at least that gave them plenty of time to practice and improve.

As Scott chewed down his breakfast, he began to hear something large moving outside.

Straining his ears, Scott deciphered the sounds of a giant truck backing up in front of their house. Which was... odd. He frowned, tilting his head toward the front of the house.

“They were there when I got here.”

Scott looked at Isaac “The trucks?” Isaac must have realized Scott was listening, and also must have heard.

Isaac nodded, “Yeah. Your neighbors are moving?”

“Oh, yes,” Scott’s mom chimed in, “I think they were frightened off along with the rest of them.”

Since Beacon Hills has been the center of mysterious murders and phenomenon ever since Scott was bitten, a lot of families started moving away. Scott could understand, somewhat. If he wasn’t at the center of all the danger, he’d be freaked out too. Well, he already was freaked out by half the things that went on around him. Actually, he wasn’t sure whether it was more frightening to be on the inside or on the outside when it came to this lifestyle. 

“Personally, I’m glad. I never liked our neighbors,” his mother added.

“ _Mom_ ,” Scott laughed, and so did Isaac.

Scott and Isaac finished eating, and Scott ran upstairs to change and grab his lacrosse gear. When he came back downstairs, Isaac was helping his mom with the dishes.

“Dude,” Scott said, “you’re making me look bad.”

Isaac grabbed his stuff from the hallway and the two of them stepped outside onto the stoop, while Scott’s mom lingered in the door frame. Outside, the three of them could see the full commotion going on next door. 

Men were carrying furniture from the house and to their giant moving truck. Everyone was throwing things into vehicles. They must have been just about done packing, because the family that had lived there for as long as Scott could remember emerged from the house. The mother, a tall, scrawny woman with crazy eyes and an ugly cropped blond haircut, led her three young children down the lawn and into their fan. The father stepped aside to speak to one of the movers, and he even slipped the man some cash. Scott could hear the father say that that was for being as ‘quick as possible.’

After the kids and the luggage was loaded into their minivan, the father went over and climbed into the driver’s seat. The mother got on the other side, and before she got into the car she looked over to where Scott, Isaac, and Scott’s mom were standing. To Scott’s surprise, she fixed the three of them with a horrid glare. She slammed the car door behind her and the father practically peeled away from their driveway, the moving truck closely following them, leaving Scott dumbfounded.

“What was that about?” he asked his mother. She just rolled her eyes.

“See? I told you I didn’t like them.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> derek and stiles will interact next chapter ok u can breathe.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fate's continue to send dark clouds to follow around Derek. Literally. But Stiles finds it all amusing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey i just met you, and this is crazy, but you're a werewolf, so bite me maybe.

How could there be so many different types of toilet paper?

Derek hated shopping. He hated stepping out into the open, he hated the looks from Beacon Hills residents, and he hated how there were a dozen options for something that only needed one. Derek simply hated a lot of things, like Peter, who was the one forcing him into this situation.

With Peter having stolen Derek’s car for the day, Derek had to walk to Beacon Hills’ closest minimart. The journey had sucked to begin merely on principle, but it was made worse by the fact that it was ungodly humid outside, dark clouds gathering overhead and threatening to dump a sheet of rain on him the whole way there. Luckily, the weather had held out for him, but the clouds still loomed over the town. 

Unable to decipher which brand meant what, Derek grabbed a random six pack of toilet paper and threw it into his cart. He had taken a quick inventory of what supplies they actually had in the house, and it turned out they were more desperate for food than he realized. Derek just wasn’t used to providing, or doing the grocery shopping thing. Life on the run had turned him and his siblings into scavengers. Their family had been wealthy growing up, so he had inheritance, which he had only used for the Camaro, shelter, and food. But the shelter had always been pits of places, and food only to keep him fit and healthy. 

He moved on to the next aisle, looking for bread. Again, there were a thousand options, and Derek just grabbed a loaf of some sort of whole grain bread. Next was the deli, where he need to get some kind of meat and cheese. The deli counter, which looked pretty crowded at that moment, was a bit of a mystery to Derek. He noticed the customer counter, which was currently on 48, as well as the ticket device with a sign that said TAKE. Derek reached over a drew a slip with the number 53 on it, so he had to wait. While the large, burly man behind the counter took orders, Derek looked at the deli on display in the counter window. 

There were quite a few options of ham, turkey, roast beast, cheese, and more cheese. He wasn’t exactly sure what Isaac wanted, or Peter, but what Peter wanted really didn’t matter. Derek personally believed a wolf would prefer the red meat. Cheese wasn’t even necessary, just meat.

“A half a pound of the smoked turkey, please,” ordered a man with glasses next to him. Derek glanced over, and when he did the man cleared his throat and looked pointedly away. _Great_ , so Derek’s reputation in Beacon Hills was still one of mystery and slander. 

A few minutes later, the counter flipped to 53, and the butcher shouted, “Next!” Derek was about to step forward, when the large man addressed a woman closer to him, “You? What do you want?”

The woman looked confused for a second. Obviously she wasn’t next because it was Derek’s turn. Still, she didn’t seem to mind seizing the opportunity to move forward, though. She opened her mouth to order except Derek was too annoyed.

“Hey!” he addressed the butcher, “I was next.”

The butcher turned towards Derek, his beady eyes narrowed. Even the woman who had been about to go was shooting daggers into Derek.

“No,” the butcher said roughly, “I saw her here first, she’s next. You can wait.

Derek couldn’t believe this. He held up his ticket, which clearly had the number 53 on it and gestured to the counter, “Look, they’re the same. That means I’m next.” 

Dismissing Derek with a wave of his Derek and a scrunch of his doughy face, “That thing’s, err, broken. I’m doing it by line now.”

“Are you serious? I’ve been waiting in this line for over five minutes” Derek gaped at the man, but the man went back to ignoring him. Derek fumed. Before he could even stop himself, a low but very loud growl escaped him. The butcher stopped dead in his tracks and turned back to Derek, his expression gone from smug to horrified. Everyone at the deli was now staring at him with a mix of terror and confusion. And that’s when Derek heard a very familiar voice behind him.

“Um...” 

Derek turned around and saw Stiles Stilinski standing behind him, wide-eyed with something between fear and amusement. Now, though, the butcher and many of the others were watching Stiles instead of Derek.

“Stiles?” the butcher stared.

Stiles stepped forward carefully, throwing Derek an unimpressed face before addressing the butcher.

“Look, Dale,” Stiles began, “I’m just a witness, but it looked to me like he was next in line. The evidence does add up.”

He gestured to both Derek’s ticket at the counter, which still matched.

The butcher’s face seemed to soften a little, to Derek’s surprise, “I don’t know, Stiles, the guy was giving me some awful mouth.”

Derek watched and couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow. Since when did Stiles have this sort of influence?

Stiles cracked a crooked smile at Dale the butcher, “Look, Dale, look at the poor guy,” Stiles shoved his hands towards Derek’s cart, “he obviously has no idea what he’s doing. I mean, he picked up moldy bread and chose Miracle Whip over the real stuff. No one in their right mind picks up Miracle Whip.”

Someone in the small crowd at the deli muttered, “Hey, I like Miracle Whip.”

Everyone else was focussed on the three of them: Derek, Dale, and Stiles. Which was the last thing Derek wanted that day, to put on a show for the locals. Dale looked from Stiles to Derek, back and forth. Derek refused to show the butcher any kind of warmth and kept on glaring, but Stiles gave the man a pleading look that Derek didn’t think was going to work.

Then Dale sighed, “Well, alright,” What. “I’ll let the guy order, but!” the butcher jabbed a fat, sausage finger at Derek, “If I see you in here again, you better have a different attitude.”

Derek almost argued that his attitude had had nothing to do with it, and that the man had been purposely singling him out because of his reputation. But he was going to get his food, at least. Stiles nodded a smile to Dale and almost gave Derek the same smile, but Derek sent him a look that conveyed that Derek was not at all thankful for his help, and Stiles dropped the smile, stepping back to where he was before. 

When Derek ordered his two pounds of roast beef - which got him some more strange glances - Dale to a perfectly sloppy and careless job of cutting the meet. As Derek waited, Stiles hovered behind him where he couldn’t see, and Derek had no idea why the kid was waiting. When the butcher was done, he practically threw the back of meet at Derek. The two of them matched a level glare before Derek turned away from the deli, finally. 

Stiles was smirking at him when he turned around, eyeing the lump of meat in his hand with a raised eyebrow.

“Roast beef? The puppy chow is in aisle six.” 

Derek pointedly chucked the deli back into his cart and began walking briskly away. He heard the quick stride of Stiles and his cart following behind, though. 

“So,” Stiles continued, “what are you doing, anyways?”

“Leaving,” Derek said.

Stiles caught up to him and peered inside his cart, frowning, “Isn’t Isaac staying with you?”

“Yes.”

“Well, you barely have enough food for one werewolf though, let alone two.”

Derek whirled around on the boy, shushing him, “Will you watch what you’re saying?!

Stiles’ eyes darted around, “N-nobody’s listening. But seriously. You can’t expect to survive off only that.”

“I can come back,” Derek said.

“Am I scaring you off?” Stiles grinned, “Was it Dale? He is pretty big, but I think you could take him. Maybe. Maybe if we teamed up.”

Derek stopped abruptly, as was Stiles forced to as well in his wake. He leaned toward Stiles ever so slightly and said a very curt, “No.”

He kept moving, but that hadn’t stopped Stiles. 

“Look, I’m pretty much done. If you need help shopping, I could -”

“I do not need your help,” Derek snapped.

“Right,” Stiles said, unconvinced, “like you didn’t at the deli... or with fighting a lizard, or tracking a text, or at the p-”

“Oh, jesus,” Derek interrupted, “You’re just getting a kick out of this, aren’t you?”

“Kinda,” Stiles almost smirked, and he laughed nervously when Derek glowered at him, “I’m sorry, it’s just kinda funny to see Beacon Hills’ resident mystery man strutting around a minimart like some average Joe.”

Derek looked at him, “... I’m not strutting.”

Stiles managed to use that moment to cut off Derek’s cart with his own.

“Do you have a list? Of things you need to get?”

“Not written down,” Derek admitted. But that was okay, he knew what he needed. Or he had when he had left the house.

“Great,” Stiles said, looking down at what Derek had so far, “You’re as unprepared as ever.” 

Derek wasn’t entirely sure what Stiles meant by that but he knew that he took offence. The next thing Derek knew, Stiles was pulling at the front of Derek’s cart and wandering down another aisle.

“You need milk,” was the only explanation he offered. Derek very reluctantly followed. In the next fifteen minutes, Derek’s cart was full enough that three werewolves would have no problem feeding themselves for the next two weeks. Technically, Derek didn’t want or need most of the stuff Stiles threw in. At one point, Stiles stopped filling up Derek’s cart to ask if the man had money, which Derek responded with deadly silence. Stiles must have thought he was some sort of hobo.

“Alright,” Stiles threw his hands up in defense, “don’t get your fur in a knot.”

They had a similar interaction when Stiles tried to sneak snausages into Derek’s cart.

“Why are you even wasting your time right now?” Derek asked, though they had pretty much finished and were heading to check out. Stiles fixed him a look that tried to say _Isn’t it obvious_?

“I like Isaac, and I feel bad that he has to rely on an inept sourwolf for sustenance,” but there was something in Stiles’ tone that gave him away, and Derek could sense that he wasn’t being completely honest. 

As they approached the checkout line, which there was only one of in this tiny minimart, Derek pushed himself in front of Stiles, still ungrateful for anything. Stiles’ nostrils flared, but he didn’t put up any fight. There was only one person in front of Derek when they pulled into line, and it was a short, curvy woman with curly brown hair who was talking animatedly to the teenage cashier. The young female employee didn’t look very interested in whatever the woman was talking about, but when she saw Derek pull into line she gulped nervously and looked directly back at the woman.

“It’s just no good, Delia,” the woman was saying to the cashier, who nodded in mock enthusiasm, “all of these properties are popping up for sale but nobody is willing to buy because people think this town is... cursed, or something!”

“Actually,” Stiles said suddenly on the other side of Derek, “Isaac spends a ton of time at Scott’s house, and with his mom, and I’m pretty sure she feeds him all the time, so...”

Derek thought that was a kind of random comment, and didn’t quite know what to do with it, “So, what? You don’t actually have a reason for throwing food at me?”

Stiles opened his mouth and quickly closed it again, swallowing whatever he had been going to say. He blinked a few times before drawing his gaze back to the two females in front of them, and so did Derek.

“That’s terrible, Miss Thurnblad,” the cashier was saying. Her tone was extremely dry and monotonous.

“...It’s ridiculous, Delia, it’s just ridiculous. There are, what? Hundreds of serial killers and rapists running around Manhattan, and millions still want to live there! So Beacon Hills had some problems with animal control, what suburban town doesn’t nowadays?” Miss. Thurnblad, as she was apparently called, must have been a realtor, Derek assumed, “There’s quality property around here, and people aren’t buying! It’s really messing up my business, Delia, really messing it up. Hell, I’ll get a gun and go out and shoot the damn cougar that’s frightening everybody off myself.”

Behind Derek, Stiles made a choked laughing sound. Derek threw him a warning glare, but when he turned back around, the woman, Miss Thurnblad was gaping at him with a mad look in her eyes. 

She pointed directly at Derek, “You!” 

Derek didn’t really know how to react, “... Yes?”

“Your uncle is fixing up that house, right?” Miss Thurnblad said, which wasn’t what Derek was expecting at all, “Any chance he’s doing all that to put it on the market?”

Honestly, Derek had no idea what Peter was planning with the whole renovation ordeal, and frankly Derek was surprised at the moment for merely being referred to as a citizen. But, like hell was Derek going to let his uncle put his home on the market.

“No,” Derek answered.

“Drat,” Miss Thurnblad snapped her fingers, “a property like that would cost a fortune. A real crowd pleaser.”

The woman paid for her groceries and began gathering them up.

“Well, I’m sure I’ll figure something out, the people need places to live, after all,” Derek was not even sure who she was talking to anymore. Just then, the woman’s phone rang and she desperately clawed through her pocketbook for it. Answering it, she said, “Hello, yes? Yes? Oh, the Mason property! Of course -”

And with the that, Miss Thurnblad the realtor grabbed her groceries with one hand and ran out of the minimart. 

Wasting no time, Derek pushed all his items forward for the cashier girl, Delia, to start doing her job. 

“Your uncle... Peter?” Stiles was suddenly speaking, “Peter’s at the house?”

Derek looked over and saw Stiles’ worrisome expression. Stiles probably had the least joyful experiences of Peter Hale, probably them all involving Peter trying to kill him. One time, Derek even had had to step in and protect Stiles from his uber wolf of an uncle, back when Peter was the alpha terrorizing the town. The memory of the experience for the two of them left a gross taste in Derek’s mouth.

“Yeah?” Derek said, “Where else would he be?”

Stiles shrugged with a nervous chuckle, “Gone? Preferably?”

Derek would have had to agree.

As he waited longer for the cashier to scan all his items and place them into brown paper bags, Derek noticed that she kept glancing over at him and then very quickly away. She looked young, probably college age, and this was probably her summer job back home. Cute for her age, he’d admit, she was pale with dark hair that had tips of blue and pink. Her eye make-up was pretty heavy, though. And, her constant staring at him was getting extremely irritating.

“What?” He barked at her, annoyed.

She blinked in surprise and looked away quickly, putting the last of his items in a bag, “N-nothing, Your total comes to $87.39. Will that be cash or credit?”

Credit was all he had, and Derek paid for his groceries as quickly as he could. Behind him, Stiles snorted for reasons Derek didn’t understand. 

“Would you like your receipt?” the cashier began to ask, but Derek didn’t even answer. He grabbed his two paper bags of food roughly and marched away, purposely avoiding looking at the cashier or at Stiles. However, he didn’t make it very far before his situation worsened. He only made it out of the doors.

The rain had come. 

Derek cursed and automatically began looking for where he had parked, realizing moments later that he didn’t actually have his car with him. He cursed again, this time specifically at Peter. Wherever his uncle was, he was probably laughing at the image of his least favorite nephew lugging a ton of groceries back to their isolated home in the rain. Derek was going to get home and shove a loaf of bread down peter’s throat, watch him choke and die for good this time.

Yes, that sounded better.

“Where’s the Camaro?”

Stiles was back, now standing next to Derek under the small outdoor roof shielding them from the downpour. Derek sure would have liked to know the answer to that question himself. 

“I walked,” Derek said.

“Why?” 

Derek did his best to say _Don’t ask_ with look he gave Stiles. Instead, Stiles shrugged and began shuffling away with his own grocery bags. It was then that Derek noticed the familiar blue Jeep parked not too far away. For a moment, Stiles stopped walking away from him and turned back to Derek, an unsure expression on his face. 

“Do you...” Stiles began, but he quickly bit his lip and shook his head, “nevermind.”

“What?” Derek snapped.

“No, nothing.”

“What?” Derek insisted, already annoyed. But his tone only made Stiles narrow his eyes at him. Whatever. Derek trudged out into the rain, uninterested in whatever the kid was going to say. It wasn’t long before him and his bags were soaked. And they were paper, so they’d rip pretty soon. Honestly that cashier was an idiot who should have known to use plastic. He made it half way across the parking lot before a shout came from behind him.

“Do you need a ride?!” 

Derek stopped and looked back to where Stiles was standing at his jeep. He actually looked surprised at himself for just yelling across a parking lot at a werewolf. Derek was pretty surprised also, and also annoyed and wet and angry at the world. Did he want a ride? No, but at the same time yes. He didn’t want to accept help from Stiles again but -

But his life had come to this.

Very reluctantly, Derek stormed over to the jeep, threw his backs in the backseat and climbed into the passenger seat, arms folded. Stiles watched him in front of the steering wheel with an amused expression.

“Nobody likes a wet dog, Derek.”

Derek growled, “Just drive.”

Stiles yelped, “Yes, Miss Daisy.”

As they drove away, Derek watched the rain patter on the Jeep’s window. Over the trees, he noticed light flashing through the sky. Lightning, and after a few seconds a loud rumble followed. If he could forget where he was, Derek found the light tapping sounds the rain made against the window comforting. He leaned leaned his forehead against the cool glass and closed his eyes, listening.

With his well-developed hearing he could listen all the aspects of the storm: the raindrops hitting the car, the street, the trees, the leaves blowing in the harsh wind, the wood creaking as it swayed, the roll of thunder from miles and miles away. The more he listened, the more entranced he got and images began forming in his mind.

Flashes of crystal blue water, blue wallpaper, and giant windows went through him. Derek blinked a few times, confused. His eyes focussed and unfocused on the drops of water sliding down the window. Another large wave of thunder erupted above, and Derek’s memories sent him more images. He was drowning, and the he was running, and someone was reaching for him, and his mother was saying, _Do not be afraid_ \- another flash of lightning - _Do not be afraid to ask_ -

“ _HEY I JUST MET YOU_ ”

What on Earth.

“ _AND THIS IS CRAZY -_ ”

Derek jerked upwards and looked to his left. Stiles had turned on the radio and was currently fiddling with the volume. 

“What the hell are you doing?” Derek demanded.

Stiles twitched a little bit, “Well, sorry! But I don’t enjoy the broody silences!”

Derek stared at him.

“ _BUT HERE’S MY NUMBER_

 _SO CALL ME MAYBE_ ”

“Is it the song?” Stiles genuinely asked, “Do you not like it? I can change it, you know.”

He hit the seek button but the next station was just playing the same song.

“ _AND ALL THE OTHER BOYS_

 _TRY AND CHASE ME -_ ”

“Uhh...” Stiles hit the button again.

“ _BEFORE YOU CAME INTO MY LIFE_

 _I MISSED YOU SO -_ ”

And again.

“ _BAD. I MISSED YOU SO SO BAD_ ”

And again and again to no avail. “Oh my god it’s _everywhere_!!” Stiles cried, hitting the button repeatedly.

“ _HEY I JUST MET YOU_ ”

“ _AND THIS IS CRAZY_ ”

“ _BUT HERE’S MY NUMBER_ ”

“ _SO CALL ME MAYBE_ ”

Finally, Stiles desperately turned the radio off. 

“On second thought,” he said, “maybe the mysterious silent works. We’ll just sit here, uncomfortably. Yep.”

And to Derek’s small delight, the rest of the ride to his house was silence. Awkward silence. 

When they pulled up to the decrepit Hale residence, the construction crew had left for the day. Apparently they weren’t being paid to work in the rain. Still, their presence from that morning was noticeable. There were a few trucks, machines, and workbenches left around the yard, and Derek even noticed a significant improvement to the west wing of the house. Improvements like a wall, for starters. 

“You guys really are renovating,” Stiles said next to him, before Derek got of the car. There was a hint of awe in his town, as Stiles stared open-mouthed at the ginormous house looming over them. Without responding, Derek reached behind and grabbed his things. He was fully prepared to march right into his house without saying anything more to Stiles. 

“What, no thank you?” Stiles snarked when Derek opened his door and stepped out. 

“Nope,” Derek replied. He shut the Jeep door and began to walk away when he heard one of the Jeep’s doors open and close again.

“Derek.”

He turned around and saw Stiles standing outside of the car. Except, his expression was one of potential fear and curiosity, and Stiles wasn’t looking at Derek, but past him and up at the house.

“What’s... What’s on your front door?” Stiles asked, licking his lips which must have gone dry. 

Oh. 

Derek followed Stiles’ gaze to where the alpha’s triskele was marked on his home. It didn’t help that the alpha’s had also smeared his front door in red paint that looked alarmingly like blood. 

Doing his best to stay cool and not entice Stiles’ intrigue further, he answered, “That’s nothing.”

Stiles wasn’t convinced at all as he raised an eyebrow at Derek, “That’s not nothing. I recognize that and it looks like -”

Just then, the front door of which they were speaking flung open. Peter stepped out, a nasty and mischievous grin on his face. 

“Oh, Derek, you’re back!” Peter chimed, “just in time for a late lunch-early dinner, I’m starving! Oh-”

Peter’s eyes focussed on Stiles.

“Stiles! It’s been awhile! I don’t know what you’re doing here, but are you hungry? Would you like to come in to eat?”

Derek looked behind at Stiles, who was wearing a rather comical expression of pure horror. His eyes were bulging out of their sockets, his lips stuttering.

“I - uh, I...!” he flailed backwards violently and bumped into his truck. He scrambled around and threw open the door, “I gotta go!”

He jumped in, faster than Derek ever thought of him capable, turned the keys and wasted no time in driving away without another word. 

Meanwhile, Peter stood on the porch looking more taken aback than he should have. As Derek walked past him and into the house, tired of all the people around him, his uncle frowned.

“Gee, I wonder what his problem was!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stiles calling Derek "Miss Daisy" is a reference to the 1989 film Driving Miss Daisy, for those who didn't catch that. Also, expect to see Miss Thurnblad show up again.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scott needs to watch where he's going.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> crack is whack, kids

Scott believed that summer school went by ten times slower than normal school. Maybe it was because he only had it twice a week and only two classes which were extended twice as long. Or, maybe it was because school during the summer was a crime against nature and possibly a criminal offence. At least, Scott thought it should be punishable by the law. 

By the end of his junior year, he managed to escape most of his classes with a C grade or higher. None in the A range, though, that was probably impossible with the way he had started the second semester. Since no evil had threatened them or gotten in the way of what would be normal teenage activities, Scott had been able to catch with the help of his very smart best friend and his new very, very smart ally in Lydia. However, he couldn’t salvage all of his grades. He still failed economics and chemistry, which made sense. Those were the classes with the worst teachers. Now Scott spent twelve hours a week with Coach Finstock and Mr. Harris. 

At least he wasn’t totally alone. He was, but there were other students forced to be there. Just... Scott really didn’t know of them. Currently, he was in his first class of that Tuesday with Coach, accompanied by a small, reserved girl Scott wasn’t sure he had seen before, another jock from the lacrosse team whose name Scott could never remember, and another guy who for his own health should probably stop wearing leather pants in such humid weather. 

“Are we done yet?” Coach Finstock asked them usually.

“Uh, we still have two hours left, Coach,” Scott said.

“Really?” Coach grimaced, “Crap. Well... I guess I should teach you something, or something.”

Scott got a kick out of the fact that it was very evident that Coach wanted to be there less than he did. 

“I could have been in San Diego, I could have been in Malibu,” Coach muttered into the whiteboard as he wrote down some equations for them, “instead I’m here with these - kids!”

Anxious to make sure he could pass this class as fast as possible, Scott jotted the notes down vehemently. The way this program worked, as far as Scott understood, was that he could be out of these classes by the end of July if he didn’t, well, fail again. Though, so far it seemed as if Coach Finstock was willing to pass everyone on the basis of He Didn’t Want to be There. 

Mr. Harris, though, was a different story. 

An hour and a half, three pages of notes and two doodles of buffalo-chickens (actual chickens crossed with buffalos) later, Coach dismissed his small class early. His excuse was that he had a poolside lounge chair with his name on it, so Scott packed up his things and left the room with his three fellow failures. Halfway down the hall, though, Scott cursed his wolf hearing when he heard the lone Coach add to himself, “and I’ll be _naked_.”

Usually Coach Finstock’s class lasted until right before Scott had to go to chemistry with Mr. Adrian, but this time Scott had thirty minutes to kill. So, naturally, he checked his phone. Nothing from Allison, as was expected, but he did have a few texts to read. The first one was from Isaac, which said:

_theres a bunch of men looking at me through a hole in the wall_

If that was supposed to be some sort of code, Scot wasn’t understanding, so he texted back a short _what?_

His next text message was from his mother, saying she was working late and he needed to feed himself. Last was a message from Stiles that said _Research_ which was a response to when Scott texted _where u been?_ to him the other night.

 _research for what?_ Scott replied, and right after he sent that he got a reply for Isaac:

_construction crews everywhere. peter hale is revamping this old house_

Well that Scott wasn’t expecting. He hadn’t seen Derek or Peter Hale in months, which was totally alright with Scott. Hales meant trouble, and neither of them had ever brought Scott anything other than misfortune. If it wasn’t for Peter Hale, Scott wouldn’t have to deal with the whole werewolf thing in the first place. Of course, the gig had its perks but none of them made up for being hunted himself and this lifestyle putting the people he loved in danger. Nope, the Hales could take their werewolf powers and shove them up their butts.

Some days, though, Scott wondered if things would have been for the worst this year, if he hadn’t gotten the bite. Because, if he hadn’t been a werewolf, he might not have been able to do anything about the horrible crimes that inevitably fell upon Beacon Hills. Whether he’d call the bite a curse, Scott wasn’t one hundred percent sure, but he definitely would never call it a blessing. 

Now, though, Peter Hale, who Scott was one hundred percent sure was evil, was fixing up the Hale house? What was that about?

He was pulled out of his thoughts when his phone buzzed again. This time it was Stiles’ response:

 _Not sure yet._ Well that was vague and unhelpful.

 _watever dude_ , Scott texted back, _its summer u shouldnt do research. xbox later?_

 _Of course_ , Stiles quickly texted back, making Scott smile. A night with no mom and just him and his best friend kicking butt on Call of Duty was going to be pretty sweet. 

A sudden noise down the hallway made Scott look up. From a distance, he could see Ms. Morrell, the school’s French teacher and guidance counselor, leading an older looking gentleman into a classroom. They were too far away for Scott to discern the features of the stranger, other than he was a tall, thick man. Ms. Morrell he only recognized because he was familiar with her thin frame and pin straight, black hair. 

“Right in here, sir, is where we have...” Ms. Morrell was saying before she closed the door to the classroom behind them. For a moment, Scott was curious and debated eavesdropping. But, he ended up checking the time and seeing that he needed to get across the school for Mr. Harris’ class. Sighing in disappointment, Scott ran to make it to the class on time. He succeeded, but that didn’t stop Mr. Harris from throwing an awful lot of shade at Scott as he took his seat towards the back of the class. 

Mr. Harris glared, “Too scared to sit in the front, McCall?” 

Scott blinked. “Uhh...” he gaped unintelligently. This class slightly bigger than Finstock’s, probably because Mr. Harris was happy with giving people failing grades. Still, the half a dozen other kids stared at Scott, either in pity or in mirth. Scott’s makeshift lab partner, a timid boy named Steven, looked digressively out the window. Steven wasn’t that bad, but the only reason Scott chose to sit next to him was because he was marginally better than the other clowns in that class, who Scott also often saw smoking non legal substances around the school bleachers. 

No one came to his aid. Mr. Harris rolled his eyes, and Scott would have assumed the man was having a bad day if he wasn’t like this all the time.

“Alright,” Mr. Harris began, “today you idiots are going to learn how to make...”

In the next three hours, Scott managed to not blow anything up, or make anything poisonous. Of course, that was mostly thanks to Steven, who inadvertently ended up helping Scott out a lot during these classes. Every so often the meek boy would stop Scott from making a mistake by stammering, “Um, um, n-no. Wait, that’s... that’s not how you do it.” And then the kid would end up basically doing it for Scott, which Scott admittedly had no problem with.

At three o’clock, they were free to leave. On his way out, Scott was stopped briefly by Mr. Harris.

“McCall, if I notice you slacking off while that kid whatsisname does all the work for you again, don’t think you’re going to be passing this class.” Busted.  
Scott walked back to where he had parked his bicycle in front of the school. One day, he’d like to have his own car. He’d been working with Dr. Deaton for two years, trying to save up for one, but that goal would probably be more realistic if he didn’t always spend his money on food, lacrosse gear, and very expensive video games. 

His route out of the school zone took him by the lacrosse field, and surely enough, the shady kids from the chem class were below the bleachers, puffing smoke up into the air. Scott’s pace slowed as his got a whiff and an inhale of that ungodly, putrid smell. He felt like a pothead just blew weed directly into his face, thanks to that super wolf nose. The stench was so awful that he began to cough and gag, almost falling off his bike.

“Hey, kid!” One of them called out to Scott. _Crap_ , Scott thought, not wanting to interact with any of them. “You wanna hit?!”

“N-no!” Scott called back, coughing and continuing his peddling. 

“Do you have any stuff on you?!” Another one called, and that should have been an obvious no, Scott thought.

“No, no!” Scott biked faster, eyes slightly watering from the torture their substance and his nose were putting him through. He was so disoriented that when he heard the car coming he could figure which way to swerve, and - 

Slam!

Scott went flying to the pavement, head smacking the ground and he was pretty sure he felt a rib or two crack. The pain seared through Scott’s body briefly, before the healing abilities quickly kicked in. It still hurt to move, though, and tears filled his eyes even more than before. His eyes fluttered open and closed, seeing nothing but the blue sky above.

“Oh my GOD!” someone was shouting. Hey, he knew that voice.

Oh _crap_ , he knew that voice. 

Scott scrambled to his feet, wincing at the pain that the healing process hadn’t erased yet. There was a still a stumble in Scott’s movement, having just been hit by a car, even if he was a werewolf. Luckily, the driver wasn’t paying much attention to Scott, though. The driver was Mr. Harris and the man was only worried about his car.

“You scratched my car!” Mr. Harris seethed at Scott, “and look! There’s a dent!”

He pointed at a small indenture in the Volkwagen’s bumper. Scott, however, looked down at where his bike was left on the ground, seemingly unbroken.

“Oh cool,” Scott said, “my bike’s okay!”

Mr. Harris rounded on him, face red with anger, “Your bike?! Your _bike_?! Who cares about your bike, look at my car!!”

“Well, I care about my bike,” Scott muttered, when suddenly there was a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“My lord, son, are you alright?” 

Scott jumped around, startled. Normally, it wasn’t easy to sneak up on a werewolf, but Scott dismissed this for trauma. Facing him with a look of concern was a large, thick, older gentleman with a snowy gray beard and twinkling blue eyes. 

“I saw the whole thing,” the old man said, “and we need to get you to a hospital right away!”

Crap. 

“No, really, I’m fine!” Scott insisted, which he was. The healing process was almost complete, and he could feel the bones in his chest mold back together. It was a strange process, and it still made Scott shutter when he felt the phenomenon. Unfortunately, this new stranger probably took it for shock.

“You absolutely are not,” The old man told him. His voice was deep, but soft at the same time. There was a soothing quality to it that put Scott at more ease. With massive hands, probably the size of Scott’s face, the old man gingerly touched Scott’s neck to check a pulse. As he did so, Scott panicked but also awed at the sheer size of the man. Judging by the wrinkles and gray hair, the man must have been in his sixties. But, the old man was also about a foot taller than Scott and looked as if he could lift a tractor trailer. It was amazing that someone could look so powerful and be so gentle checking on someone’s physical condition, too. If the old man found an irregularity in Scott’s pulse, though, it was was because Scott was afraid he’d notice that Scott was way less injured than he should be.

Meanwhile, Mr. Harris was on the phone with what sounded like his car insurance, yelling furiously into the phone.

“I expect to be covered for this!!” 

The old man took his hands off Scott and turned to the teacher, “You, sir, need to call an ambulance right away. This boy is injured!”

“Uh -” Well this was quite the pickle. 

“That boy,” Mr. Harris spat, “is going to pay for what he did to my bumper!”

The old man looked bewildered, “How can you be like this? I saw you texting at the wheel, and I’ll -”

“Stay out of this, old man,” Mr. Harris snapped.

As amazed as Scott was at the old man remaining so calm and as curious as he was to witness Mr. Harris being chewed out by this stranger, Scott seized the opportunity of the two of them arguing to snatch his bike up. He hopped on and began peddling away as fast as he could. _Don’t look back!_ He told himself. 

“Wait!” he heard the old man call after him, “you need to see a doctor!!” But it was too late. Scott was already gone. 

As soon as Scott was far away enough, he slowed down and caught his breath. That was the closest call Scott had had to his secret being revealed in a while. Hopefully he’d never see the old man again. Mr. Harris, Scott would just have to deal with. Scott wondered if the guy would actually make Scott pay for that ugly old car, especially when the whole thing had been an accident. The old man had even said that Mr. Harris had been texting at the wheel, so there was no way Scott was at fault. 

Still breathing heavily, Scott rode his bike through town on his way home. He saw several FOR SALE signs in front of homes and townhouses. Beacon Hills was a small town, far too small to cope with the supernatural forces come wreck havoc on it. Scott rode through the tiny town center, which had only a town’s bare essentials: a gas station, post office, Randy’s Burger Joint, drug store, a teeny tiny park, a few shops and a library just a little ways down the road. The rest of the town was spread out into suburban roads and neighborhoods surrounded by thick forest. One could drive around the residential area of Beacon Hills in probably twenty minutes, Scott estimated. But the wild area of Beacon Hills stretched for miles, and that included the Hale property.

Only quarter to four o’clock, Scott had time to kill and decided to take a detour home.

Every so often Scott rode his bike past the Argents home. He never stopped to knock on the door, but he did observe. Her car was never in the driveway, but every time he listened closely, testing if he could hear Allison’s heartbeat up in her room. All he ever heard was vague movement coming from inside, which could only be Allison’s father. Or maybe he had supernatural hunting buddies in there? That day, Chris Argent’s SUV was absent, but more than not it was parked right out front when Scott biked by. Scott had to think about where Allison could be, but he also wondered about Mr. Argent. If Allison was somewhere outside of Beacon Hills, and with Mrs. Argent dead for about four months, how lonely was Chris Argent? Or did he have a posse of hunter friends to hang out and drink beers with?

Scott couldn’t dwell on that for too long, though, as he rode his bike passed the large home. He might have been thankful for Chris’s help against Gerard Argent and the kanima, but was still bitter about all the trouble Chris gave Scott in the past for just being a werewolf.

Or for dating his daughter.

Finally Scott took himself home. He parked his bike outside and glanced over at the now empty house nextdoor, wondering if anyone was going to move in there soon. Whoever bought the house, Scott just hoped they’d be oblivious to strange howling noises coming from the McCall’s house on full moons. That wasn’t so much to ask, was it?

A little bit later, while Scott waited in his room for Stiles to get there later, Scott went on his computer and checked his e-mail. To his surprise, he saw one from his school. 

_Dear Mr. McCall,_

_We are obligated to inform you that your summer class make up class_ Standard Level Chemistry _has been henceforth cancelled. Likeliness for the revival of the class are slim. We are aware that students in_ Standard Level Chemistry _were in need of their credit in order to complete their junior year. Because this situation is at the fault of others besides the students involved, we advise that you accept our offer to take a extra credit course during your senior study hall every six cycle days._

_We apologize for the inconvenience and we hope you enjoy the remainder of your summer vacation._

_Sincerely,_  
Beacon Hills High School  
Reception Office  
Janet Bills, Receptionist

“This is freaking awesome!!” Scott shouted once he was done reading. This was just about the best thing that could have happened to Scott all summer. Well, besides Allison showing up at his doorstep, saying she wanted to get back together. But Scott would take this too. 

He jumped out of his computer chair, wooping into the empty house and pulling out his phone. Falling on his bed, he texted just about anyone he thought would care. That included Allison. 

Isaac returned his enthusiasm first: _that’s awesome man mr. harris is a butt!_

Scott snorted. Yes. Yes, he was. 

Then, Scott was surprised when his phone buzzed with a message from Lydia saying, _Somehow you’re going to pass high school without learning anything and I am going to lose more faith in our education system_ , because Scott didn’t even remember texting Lydia in the first place. Somewhere along the way, Lydia Martin became someone Scott reflexively shared news with. 

The sound of Scott’s front door opening hit Scott’s ears, and the delicious aroma of buffalo chicken pizza carrying all the way upstairs. _Mmmm_. 

“Honey, I’m home!” Stiles called from downstairs.

Scott ran downstairs, throwing his arms up in the air, “I’m free! And pizza!” 

Stiles looked at his best friend curiously, “I’m happy for your people?”

Upstairs in Scott’s room, the two of them devoured a whole pizza and Scott even ate half of another one, all while Scott relayed the story of him being hit by Mr. Harris’s car earlier that day. Then, Scott showed Stiles the e-mail that freed him from hours under the same man’s tyranny.

“Hmm,” Stiles tapped his chin, “maybe that giant man that was there ended up _crushing_ Mr. Harris with his bare hands after you left. You did say that they were arguing when you escaped.”

Scott frowned, “Well, yeah.”

“That’s in then!” Stiles said, “Mr. Harris was murdered by that old dude!” 

“You really think so?” Scott asked. The old man seemed like the last person to hurt something.

“Well, no,” Stiles admitted, “but you’ve gotta admit, we should learn to be wary of little ol’ grandpas.”

Except the man Scott had met wasn’t very little at all, “Hah, yeah, but I don’t think he killed Mr. Harris. Woulda been nice though...”

Stiles laughed, “Dude.”

“Still, I mean, maybe it is a little suspicious that the problem just... disappears.”

“Y’know,” Stiles shrugged, “after the trouble this town’s seen I would be surprised if this was the work of the boogeyman.”

It would have been funnier if it hadn’t had been so possible.

“Speaking of trouble in town,” Scott just remember his texts from Isaac earlier, “did you know the Hale house was being renovated?”

Stiles’ face fell. He cleared his throat and avoided Scott’s eyes, “Uh, well, yeah I did kinda actually. And that is sortaaaa related to what I was researching earlier.”

Scott watched his friend carefully as Stiles pulled a sheet of paper from his back pocket. Stiles unfolded it and held it up for Scott to see. Sloppily draw on the paper was a strange symbol with a triangle in the middle and three angular spindles attached.

“Isn’t that the Nazi’s symbol?” Scott asked, a little concerned.

Giving his friend a blank look, Stiles said, “ _No_ it’s called a triskele. I’ve seen one like it before, on Derek, but this one was different and this one and this one I saw on his front door, so I looked it -”

“Wait wait wait,” Scott gasped, “What were you doing at Derek’s?”

Stiles’ eyes darted around, continuing to avoid Scott’s, “Well, it was nothing, I just gave him a ride home the other day in the rain it was stupid and uncomfortable but -”

“Listen,” Scott interrupted, “I think we should just stay away from Derek and his crazy uncle nowadays, don’t you? If this thing was on their house, it’s their problem. I’m done.”

“Yeah, but don’t you think their problems could become problems for the town?” Stiles argued, “the forces of supernatural haven’t exactly been picky so far.”

“Maybe,” Scott said, “but I mean, if we have to jump in and play hero we will. But I’m not entirely crazy about the idea of helping out the Hales. They tried to kill Jackson, remember?”

Stiles shrugged, “Who doesn’t want to kill Jackson?”

Scott grimaced in his friend’s direction. He wasn’t entirely sure whether that was meant as sarcasm or if Stiles was genuinely that bitter about Jackson dating the girl of Stiles’ dreams.

“Okay okay,” Stiles retracted, “I get what you’re saying. I was just being curious, you know me.”

“Yeah...” Scott raised an eyebrow, “so do you promise to stay away from Derek’s problems?”

For a second Stiles didn’t answer and his mouth stretched into a thin line, and Scott thought that he might refuse him.

“I promise,” Stiles said. He refolded the paper with the symbol of the triscuit or whatever and put it back in his back pocket. 

Mildly satisfied, Scott sighed. “Can’t we just forget about psychopaths and evil science teachers and play COD?”

Stiles perked up, “Oh fuck yeah man!”

They both dived for the controllers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> but pot is pretty ok.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A reporter comes to the Hale House, and Derek gets nostalgic. And frustrated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few notes on this chapter. First of all, I went back and fixed some age discrepancies. Silly me, I had thought the teenagers were sophomores in seasons one and two, but then thinking about that, I realized that didn't make much sense going by their ages. So yes, now I've fixed it so they're all going into their senior year.
> 
> Also, I couldn't find where I wrote it but I was pretty sure I had referred to Derek as twenty-four in this fic. Maybe not? Anyways. I also did some maths and in order for things to make sense, I've made Derek twenty-three in this fic. Jeff Davis recently said he believes that fans are misinterpreting Derek's age, and that he's "definitely not 24." That probably means he's not 23, either, but you know? Screw it, I have an age kink. I'll make Derek as old as I want as long as it makes sense because that's the power of fanfiction, people!
> 
> Lastly, I'd like to apologize for the delay on this chapter. It was the hardest to write so far but it's also the longest (5k words!!), so hopefully that makes it up to all of you. 
> 
> Ok, I'm done.

For three straight weeks, Derek had woken up to the sound of drilling and hammering, but today he woke up to the doorbell. Which was never rung.

He felt sunlight hitting his closed eyelids, beckoning them open. However, he stayed lying stomach down on his crummy mattress. Listening closely, he heard his uncle’s footsteps on the floor below striding towards the door. 

Derek heard the door swing open.

“Miss Rosewood!” Peter’s voice said, “It’s so good to finally meet you! Please, come in.”

The sound of another, lighter pair of footsteps entered the premises. 

“It’s good to meet you as well, Mr. Hale, and wow!” Derek heard the light, airy tone of the woman, Miss Rosewood, below, “Your construction crew has gotten quite a lot done in such a short amount of time.”

“Is this the interview already?” Peter chuckled, and Miss Rosewood giggled as well. So this must have been the woman from The Beacon. Listening to Peter Hale act charming was sickening, and Derek wished he could just fall back to sleep now. “And please,” Peter added, “call me Peter. There’s no need to be formal, I’m inviting you into my home, aren’t I?”

 _Run, Miss Rosewood, run!_ Derek urged her in her mind, _Before it’s too late!_

“Alright, Peter, thank you,” Miss Rosewood said as Derek listened to them shuffle in the hallway.

“And I apologize for all the noise around us,” Peter said, “It’s not going to be too much for you, is it? You won’t be distracted?”

“No, not at all!” Miss Rosewood replied, “And in fact I’d like a tour later to see what sort of construction is being done. For now, do you have someplace we could sit and chat?”

“Right, of course,” Peter said, “this way.”

From the sound of their footsteps, Derek realized Peter was leading her upstairs. _Oh great_ , he was going to have to move. He had no desire for Peter to play a cruel prank and lead this reporter right in on where Derek was sleeping in just his boxers. 

As Derek rolled off his mattress and looked around for clean clothes, he heard Peter explaining, “I find that it’s _slightly_ quieter from everything the higher in the house you go.”

Something _clicked_ , Derek heard as he pulled clothes on.

“And is it safe?” Miss Rosewood asked. 

“You’re recording already?” Peter asked.

“Anything you say could be useful to my article, Mr. Hale. Unless you say otherwise I’m going to assume everything is on the record.”

“Then yes, it’s safe.”

Miss Rosewood laughed, “Now, is it just you in the house, or...?”

“There’s my nephew, Derek,” Peter said, and Derek considered jumping out the window. “He should be around here somewhere. He hasn’t done much such he got back to Beacon Hills, besides visit me at the hospital when I was there and then look for me when I went missing.” Oh here we go, “I am hoping that this project inspires him to get back on his feet.”

“He did go through a terrible trauma, though,” Miss Rosewood said, “You all did.”

“Oh, yes, of course!” Peter agreed, “I think he still feels disillusioned from society after the incident. And he’s gotten into some trouble along the way, as you might have heard. He just can’t connect with people like he used to, but that’s what he’s got me for.”

Maybe Derek would just throw up, listening to his uncle paint him like a charity case. It was disgusting. 

“But he didn’t always have you,” the reporter pointed out, “you were brain dead and paralysed until just a few months ago, and the whole town thinks of your recovery as a miracle. While you were like that, Derek and Laura Hale went missing from this town. Then he shows up again, and just a little while later you end up cured!”

Peter laughed, and Derek could hear the nervousness behind it. 

“Anyways... I thought the subject of your piece was the renovation.”

“Oh, it’s as much about you as it is about the house,” Miss Rosewood stated, “everyone’s curious about your family, you know. Why, is this making you uncomfortable?”

“No, not at all!” Peter lied well, “Ask anything you like.”

Deciding that Derek couldn’t stay hidden away in his room all day, he tried to figure out the best means of escape. If he actually did go out the window, the workers below would definitely see him. From the sounds of it, Peter and Miss Rosewood were on the floor below Derek, in a parlor room that looked over the front yard. If he was careful, he could sneak down two flights of stairs without making a sound. That wouldn’t be easy.

He emerged from his room as quietly as he could manage, leaving the door open. It didn’t help that everything in their house squeaked every time anything moved even a little bit. He refrained from putting on his shoes, thinking his socked feet would go more quietly. Very carefully, he tip toed down the stairs. 

However, this plan would have been a lot more likely to succeed if Peter didn’t have the same super werewolf hearing that Derek had.

“Derek, is that you?” Fight, or flight?

His uncle threw open the door to Derek’s left and flashed a malevolent grin at him. 

“Derek! Perfect! Come in and meet Miss Rosewood, the reporter writing about the house.”

At this point, it would be unsubtle to just take off. The reporter already knew Derek was standing outside, and it certainly didn’t help when his uncle grabbed him by the arm and began hauling him into the upper parlor, “Come on, don’t be shy!” 

Miss Rosewood awaited inside the room, already standing and prepared to be acquainted. She was a pretty Asian woman who was probably just a little older than Derek. He assumed she must have dyed her hair because it shimmered an unnatural golden blond. Still, the shade suited her as her skin happened to be a similar tone. 

“Hello, Derek!” Miss Rosewood held out her hand for him to shake, “it’s a pleasure to meet you! Your uncle was just telling me more about you!”

 _I know_ , Derek wanted to say. He took her hand and shook it firmly, inhaling as he did so in order to get a scent on this new stranger. Curiously, Miss Rosewood happened to smell like bark and soil, and something else that Derek couldn’t recognize, but something familiar. 

Putting on his best front, Derek flashed the young woman a toothy smile, “Yes, it’s great, my uncle told me you were coming. What has he told you about me? Nothing bad, I hope.”

Derek caught his uncle’s gaze, who held it steadily with a smirk curling on his lips. The jerk probably figured that Derek would be listening from upstairs. 

“Oh, of course not,” Miss Rosewood giggled, returning to her seat, “Actually, your uncle was just telling me how he just got a job district attorney’s office. What do you think of that, Derek?”

 _Everyone is doomed_ is what he thought about that.

“Is that so?” Derek said, baring his teeth at his uncle in a false smile, “He hadn’t told me.”

Peter chuckled, “I was a lawyer for eight years before, Derek. Remember? When you were little you said you wanted to go to law school like me.” 

Derek narrowed eyes. He couldn’t recall if that was true or not at this point, but the vague memory of him ever idolizing Peter made his stomach churn.

“Don’t worry, Derek,” Peter’s lip curled, “it’s only domestic work.” 

Miss Rosewood looked between them carefully, jotting something down on a notepad she had lying on the table. She had that and the tape recorder going, so she was clearly a thorough woman. 

“What about you, Derek?” she broke the silence, “You’re, what? Twenty-three years old now? My research tells me you’re unemployed. Where do you see yourself once you’ve gotten back on your feet and recovered from all the tragedy in your life?”

He had been pulled into an interrogation, and now he was being forced to think of answers to questions he had trouble asking himself. Looking into the reporter’s eyes, Derek saw nothing genuine behind that coal black. 

“Sorry,” he gnashed his teeth at her, “but my uncle didn’t warn me that I’d be in this article.”

“If it makes you feel more comfortable,” she said, “I can continue primarily asking your uncle questions.” That didn’t exactly answer his question.”

“But one more thing, Derek,” Miss Rosewood smiled sweetly at him, “can you tell me where you were staying for the six years after the fire?”

Derek lied but also didn’t, “With family.”

Miss Rosewood’s eyebrows rose a fraction, “And where was that?”

“New York,” which was also relatively true. 

“That’s all the way across the country,” pointed out Miss Rosewood, which yes, Derek knew that, “and yet you visited your uncle often?”

Derek looked at his uncle.

“That’s what he just told me, before you came in, that apparently you and your sister were his number one visitors.”

Peter met Derek’s eyes and shrugged with a carefree smile, and Derek could have slammed the man’s head against the table right then. 

Derek gave Miss Rosewood his most charming laugh, “I thought you only had one more question.”

She matched Derek’s fake smile with one of her own, leaning toward him.

“Are you looking forward to seeing your home again, Derek?” She asked in a softer voice than before. 

It was a bombardment of questions, and Derek’s words strained themselves, “It is where I grew up, after all.” He could be indirect too. 

“Mr. Hale,” Miss Rosewood turned back to Peter abruptly, “How much is this renovation costing you?”

Derek blinked. If this woman was no longer prying into his emotions, was he free to go?

“A lot!” Peter said enthusiastically, “but I think it’ll be worth it, to see this majestic building back in its prime.”

“What aspects of the architecture are you concerned with maintaining the original of, and what others are you replacing?”

“I think rooms like this,” Peter gestured widely to the area in which the they sat, “were what made this house so special. Old-fashioned inbetweens and long halls. I really loved the openness created by the giant windows too, and...”

Listening to his uncle describe the way the house was for Derek growing was both painful and wistful. Even the room they were in currently didn’t exist in houses as they were built nowadays, and it was so bright. Along with the curtainless windows, the broken roof allowed streams of sunlight into the otherwise dark and danky house. He’d been so haunted by its scarred walls that Derek had had troubling recalling the home it had once been. Even now, where he was sitting, he could remember him and his cousins playing just a couple feet away when they were younger.

“Derek?”

Derek snapped back to reality, realizing he’d been addressed. Peter and Miss Rosewood were watching him.

“What?” He shook himself out of the nostalgia he scolded himself for.

“I asked what you were most looking forward to once the house was fixed?” Miss Rosewood said steadily. 

“Oh,” Derek thought for a moment, and answered honestly without getting too personal, “a roof.”

His answer seemed to have surprised Miss Rosewood for a moment, but she ended up laughing at him. It was a harsh, tinny noise that irritated Derek, and he didn’t think what he’d said was so funny. He genuinely looked forward to having a roof again. 

“Your answers are interesting, Derek,” Miss Rosewood beamed at him, “are you sure you don’t want to be in the article more?”

Derek tried to put as much distance between himself and the reporter as possible without really moving. He caught a glimpse of Peter in the corner of his eyes and saw that his uncle looked thoughtful about something. That could never be good.

“If it’s all the same to you, Miss Rosewood,” Derek said, “I think I’ve said more than enough for your article. I really don’t know much about the construction project, and I don’t really want to talk anymore about my life with a stranger.”

“Oh,” Miss Rosewood looked disappointed, “well, I’ll be around more after this. Maybe you could come to think of me as a friend?”

 _That only makes it harder to talk to people_ , Derek swallowed.

“You know,” Peter interjected suddenly, “I think that’s a great idea. You two are around the same age, and like I was telling you earlier, Miss Rosewood, Derek could really due to meet more people his age in this town.”

“Right,” Miss Rosewood nodded at Peter, a bit wide-eyed, “you did tell me that.” 

“Uncle Peter,” Derek warned.

Peter ignored him and leaned toward Miss Rosewood, “He’s single, you know.”

And that was enough.

Derek stood up sharply, rocking the table. Miss Rosewood reached for her recorder protectively and looked up at him with concern. Peter, though, just smirked up at him. 

“I -” Derek started awkwardly, “I have things to do.”

He added to Miss Rosewood quickly, “It was nice meeting you.” And Derek almost sprinted out of the room. 

Face hot in embarrassment, Derek stormed as far away as he could. He was so angry and abashed that he couldn’t even control where he was going. His legs took him deeper into the house with long, seething strides. 

Peter was purposely trying to hurt him, Derek knew that. He may have been putting up the concerned uncle act but Derek knew better. There was no compassion in that man anymore. But Derek could deal, because Derek had always learned to deal. Derek could learn to play Peter’s manipulative little games, he could deal with Peter putting him on the spot like his uncle just had. But somehow, Peter had gone too far that time.

Derek wasn’t exactly sure why it hadn’t been the prying into his past and emotions from Miss Rosewood to spark him. Those moments had certainly irritated him and made him want to get up in leave, but he had stood his ground. Actually, at some points in the interview Derek even found himself growing reminiscent during the interview, which maybe he should allow himself more of? It hadn’t been Peter’s insistence of Derek’s tragedy case, either. But somehow it had been in mention of romance that sent Derek over the edge.

He could really only connect that feeling to one thing, or person: Kate Argent.

But Derek had a rule for himself, and that was Don’t Think About _That_. He’d lose all faith in himself if he did. 

It wasn’t just Kate, though. Having Peter refer to his romantic status made Derek feel _dirty_. Like he wanted any of those things to have anything to do with each other. It was also that that subject was meant for people, and Derek had yet to feel like people for a very long time. It wasn’t enough that everyday he woke up with a voice in the back of his head saying, _Remember the world? You might be a supernatural creature but you’re still a part of it, hop to!_ but relationships with humans were far too ordinary for Derek to be comfortable with them. 

Lost in his own dark thoughts, Derek didn’t even realize when he ended up someplace in the house he didn’t recognize. His feet had carried all the way to the northern part of the mansion, which before had been too unsafe to even walk in. The floors had been too unstable and the walls and roof had threatened to cave in at even the slightest movement. Now, though, the Peter and his crew had installed a new floor and stabilized the roof. Even though the hall looked barely like it had in the past, torn between old scars and new patchwork, Derek quickly recognized where he was.

He was on the first floor of the house in the western end of a the home’s longest hallway. It stretched from one end of the house to the other and was lined on one wall with a dozen tall windows and french doors that once lead to a grand patio in the backyard. Now, though, Derek could only see machines and tractors when he looked out the newly installed windows. The deck now looked like a war zone of thrown up brick and stones. There was cement being lay down on that area, and Derek assumed that Peter was planning on resurrecting the landscaping eventually as well. 

The Pipe Hall, as the Hales used to refer to it as, also had doors on the other side of it that lead to rooms like the dining room, the kitchen, and offices. There were no bedrooms on the first floor, but there two large staircases on either end of the Pipe Hall that lead to the upper sleeping quarters. 

Outside, Derek noticed ladders and cranes reaching overhead to the second floor, and he assumed that meant that the workers were currently restoring the balcony of the second floor that had been so large that it had simultaneously served as a roof to the patio below. Wondering how safe the second floor was at this part of the house, Derek eyed the western staircase. These stairs were a lot steeper and more narrow than the grand staircase in the front of the house, and Derek wondered how safe they were to climb. 

Moving cautiously, Derek placed one foot on one stair at a time. If Derek could now get to the northwestern second floor of the house, he might be able to enter his own room. He just hoped the floor didn’t give way underneath him. 

He was surprised to see a fair amount of construction workers moving around and about on the second floor. Dozens of men passed to and from the large second floor landing, barking at each other in a couple of languages. Some carried bricks and two-by-fours, others leant over holes in the floor that needed repairing, a few surrounded the northern wall that lead out to the balcony, and several hauled what looked to Derek like giant portrait frames.

Derek snuck by easily since they were all far too occupied to notice his presence. He slinked down an unlit corridor to the west and walked further away from the commotion. The passage was dank and Derek got a whiff of something probably leaking. Overhead there were broken chandeliers that no longer worked, and the hall was swallowed by more and more shadow as Derek continued. 

Finally he reached a room with a broken down door. It could barely be called a door anymore; it was more like a barrier of burn down wood. The remains were weak and easily kicked down by Derek. After a moment’s hesitation, Derek stepped forward into the room. 

It was barely like he remembered it, just a hollow skeleton of the place he once slumbered. All of his destroyed clothes, toys, belongings, posters, furniture, and every superficial thing he had filled his life with had been chucked away as trash immediately after the fire six years ago. All that remained in his old room was a broken bed frame and its own scars. Unless...

Derek crossed the room and entered his old walk-in closet. Wracking his memory, he examined the wooden floor very carefully. Finally, he kneeled down and, bringing out his claws, tore up the floorboards. He had attacked the right area, because underneath were several items, unharmed from fire or age.

Stowed away beneath the floor was a shoebox and a baseball bat. At first, Derek wasn’t sure he’d be able to touch them, like they were just his memories playing tricks on him. But, Derek reached forward and pulled out the slightly frayed shoebox and felt that it was very real.

He gingerly pulled it into his lap and removed the lid, finding that its contents were in relatively good shape. Inside was almost one hundred baseball cards, a decaying baseball, and two dirty tickets. It was amazing to see them all again. 

Growing up, Derek had been a huge baseball fan. He didn’t understand Beacon Hills’ recent and sudden obsession with lacrosse; he’d always been a baseball kid. He’d started collecting baseball cards from a young age, his father having handed down Derek’s first: a vintage Jackie Robinson card. Derek picked up the stack and flipped through them, relieved to see some of his most precious cards still there. Jackie Robinson, Sammy Sosa, Babe Ruth, Hideo Noma... Derek almost felt like he was seeing familiar faces again. 

Next he took out the two ticket stubs, which had been to the first Dodgers game his father had taken him to. He remembered being _so_ excited, and his father laughing at how animated his son was. His father had bought him a jersey and everything, which of course Derek had outgrown ages ago having only been six at the time. Still, Derek remembered the day as being one of the best in his life. 

Derek hastily put the tickets back. When he did, his fingers brushed over the old baseball, and Derek brought that out of the box next while simultaneously reaching for the bat still under the floor.

Peter hadn’t been lying when he told Miss Rosewood that there was a time in Derek’s younger days when Derek wanted to be a lawyer like his Uncle - Derek thought the suits looked cool, and he was even applying to some colleges before the fire with law in mind. But that ambition was nowhere near the dream Derek had had of becoming a professional baseball player. Naturally, he played for Beacon Hills High School’s team, and that’s where the baseball and bat came from. 

In the championship game of Derek’s junior year, Beacon Hills was down seven to nine in the last inning with two outs. There had been two players on base, and Derek had been up to bat. The bat he was currently holding was the bat he had used to hit a homerun, winning them the game. No wolf skills, just skill and the lucky, old-fashioned, wooden bat that was now splintered and scratched. The old ball was the game ball they had awarded him. It had been perfect; his whole family had been there, alive and full of joy.

Derek caught himself smiling at the memories, but a sudden female voice from behind him knocked it right out of him.

“You used to be so happy,” the voice said, “whatever happened to my boy with all that drive?”

Derek whirled around, dropping the items from his hand and hopping to his feet. Instead of finding his mother, though, Derek faced a squat construction worker with a long, bushy beard looking at Derek in puzzlement.

“Did you say something?” Derek snapped.

“Yeah,” the man blinked, “I said yer gonna have to clear outta here for now, it’s not gonna be safe.” 

“Oh.”

Derek turned back to his collection of keepsakes, slightly embarrassed. He bent over and placed them all back into the floor, deciding that he’d retrieve them later.

“Was this your room?” the construction man asked casually.

“Yes,” Derek answered shortly.

“Well,” the man winked at him, “don’t worry it’ll be fixed up again soon enough.” When Derek didn’t say anything more and began exiting the room, the man stopped him again.

“Actually, we know yer uncle’s busy but we found somethin’ we think you’d wanna see.”

“And what’s that?” Derek asked.

The man led Derek out of the room and back to the central second floor landing. 

“Hey, Marcel!” The man yelled at one of his workers, “bring that picture over here!” 

A scrawny man ran over carrying a large frame that was half the size of him, “Right boss!” 

Marcel flipped the portrait over, and Derek gasped at what he saw.

“We found it amongst some of the wreckage down below, and honestly we’re surprised it wasn’t discovered when the house was first cleaned out. But, uh, it’s a miracle really, how good the quality is! It’s like the flames couldn’t touch it!”

Derek was staring at a painting of his mother that had once hung in his father’s office. Besides some damage done to the frame, the man was right: the image was completely unharmed.

“And we think there’s even more down there, maybe even some in good condition too. So anyways, we wanna know what ya think we should do with ‘em when we clean ‘em out.”

Still in awe, Derek couldn’t answer for a second. Then he pulled his eyes away from his mother’s face and to the man’s. There were more, he said?!

“Um, you can,” Derek thought for a moment, “you can just put them in the southeast rooms when you’re done, I guess.” 

The bearded man and Marcel nodded. They left to get back to work, Marcel dragging his mother’s face away from Derek. A pull in Derek’s stomach wanted to snatch it away and stare at it alone forever. 

But he was never quite alone anymore.

“She was so beautiful, wasn’t she?” Derek had company that he never asked for.

He turned around and saw his uncle standing cross-armed behind Derek, watching the portrait being carried away.

“Where’s the reporter?” Derek asked, noting Miss Rosewood’s absence. 

“She’s outside,” Peter shrugged, “talking to some of the workers.”

“And you’re comfortable leaving them alone?”

Again, Peter shrugged, and Derek rolled his eyes. 

“She seemed harmless,” Peter said.

“Harmless?” Derek raised his eyebrows, “She was prying way too far into our personal lives. You’re not at all worried she’s on to you?”

“On to us,” Peter corrected, “And nah. She’s just asking questions that need to be asked. Like for instance, Derek, what are your plans for the future?”

Derek growled at his uncle and began marching away, not in need of this again in the same day. 

“Derek.” Peter followed.

His uncle followed Derek into a less busy area of the house, where Derek didn’t have to worry about an audience if he ended up murdering his uncle. Again.

“And oh,” Derek grunted back at his uncle, “Like I really need you and a stranger talking to me about my future.”

“I thought she could have been encouraging in the cause of getting you back on your feet,” Peter winked slyly at him.

Derek rolled his eyes, “What? I’d meet a pretty woman and run out to build a life for us.”

“Something like that,” and Peter sighed wistfully, “But she is pretty, isn’t she?”

Derek grimaced. Gross.

“Nice try, uncle, but it wouldn’t be so easy. Remember? I didn’t go to law school like some people, I didn’t even get to graduate _high school_.” 

Bitterness escaped through his words, and Derek backed up a bit.

“All games aside, Derek,” Peter relented, a slimy quality in his voice, “we aren’t getting anywhere like this, not with all your moping -”

“I don’t _mope_ ,” Derek snapped. 

“Of course not,” Peter’s voice oozed sarcasm.

Derek rounded on his uncle.

“What do you expect me to _do_?!” he nearly shouted, “The alphas are coming and I’m not going to let you trick me into letting my guard down!!”

Peter smirked.

“Exactly, Derek, the alphas are coming, and you know you’re no match for them. You scared off all your betas and you’re still calling yourself an alpha.”

Derek fumed, “I _am_ an alpha.”

“Yeah, sure,” Peter snorted, “Some alpha. You can’t even transform into a full wolf yet.”

“I -” Derek clenched his jaw. His uncle sort of had him there. Derek had been wondering why he hadn’t been able to make the change yet. Killing Peter, the previous alpha, should have given him that ability. He’d grown stronger, faster yes. But if Peter still had his alpha abilities, Derek wouldn’t stand a chance.

Peter’s eyes gleamed, eyeing the clenched fists at Derek’s side. He must have sensed he hit a sore spot, “So, you’ve been wonder yourself, haven’t you?”

Glaring at his uncle, Derek said, “I should be able to. Do you know something?!” 

“It should be obvious, Derek,” Peter crossed his arms, “You’re just that weak.”

“I’m weak?! What -!” 

“What? You think that simply slashing the throat of somebody who’s already down for the count gives you the right to lead a pack?” Peter rolled his eyes, “Yeah, a lot of hard work you did there.”

“But that’s how -” Derek started, but his uncle only interrupted him again.

“Becoming an alpha isn’t just something you can _take_ , Derek. It’s something you have to _earn_.”

Peter began to turn away but before he left completely, he added lastly, “You might have red eyes, kid, but you’re no alpha.”

And with one last nasty look, Peter strolled away. Derek was left there dumbfounded.

Every muscle in Derek’s body had gone tense. He hated that he hadn’t been able to transform into a full alpha, but Derek hated it even more that his uncle could use that fact to toy with him. It was apparent that Peter most likely knew something about it that Derek didn’t. 

Derek also hated that his uncle wasn’t completely wrong about his current lifestyle. What if the alphas never did show up? What could he do with no diploma, no work experience. He had money, but none that he had ever earned. Just like his red eyes had been, money and privilege had been practically handed to him. The giant mansion around him was pretty evident of that. 

Standing there, Derek decided he would have to change something. If he was ever going to get strong enough to go up against a real alpha, something _had_ to change. He wasn’t exactly sure what he’d do, yet. But Derek had to act, especially when he was sure of one more thing: his mother was beginning to haunt him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So as you can see, this chapter was so difficult to write because we see Derek struggle with being people. In the show, we don't really get to see Derek be people, so it was kinda foreign territory. I tried to draw from the scene where he charms the police woman at the station, but also his regular inept qualities.
> 
> As for Peter, I decided to make him a lawyer because I thought it fit his personality. He had to have done something for work before the fire, and I also assumed that it'd be something that made a lotta bank. Hales be loaded. 
> 
> Next chapter will be from Lydia's POV instead of Scott's :o!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We interrupt your regularly scheduled Scott McCall programming for this important Lydia Martin announcement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These chapters keep getting longer and longer!! I don't know whether or not it's that fact that's making my updates slower, or my schedule. I'm still trying to complete as many chapters as possibly before the new semester starts, when my updates will /really/ suffer.
> 
> Also, I updated the fic's summary to include Lydia's storyline. That is all.

_The moon was full and pale, reflecting across the still waters of a shallow pool. Deep in the woods lay a modes lake, one familiar to the townsfolk and the forest’s creatures. Its waters were pure and full of life, feeding the lush growth of wildlife around._

_On this night the waters were eerily still, making the reflecting moon all the more like a mirror image. In the darkness the lake looked an inky black, unmoved still despite the steady breeze passing through the trees. The wind carried to the shores the faint tune of a song, a tinkering sound like a music box. When listened to carefully, one could discern that the sound was a voice, singing to its own melody words in a language unknown to humans. Translated, one would hear:_

Come forth o little lamb   
we’re waiting here for you  
Red stain upon the land   
and here we fear the hue

For three between two  
and of them amongst thee  
The sun and the moon  
will carry o’er to us their plea

The sea the sky and Earth   
between the powers undefied  
Carefully the slaughter came  
the vagabonds have died

_To humans, though, the music sounded only like pretty musings, unaware of its message. A warning._

_The trees began to grow restless. They swayed and rocked against the wind, creaking their ancient roots. As abruptly as it had started, the music ceased and the cries from the forest took its place. Something moved through the trees, something dark and leaking forces that upsetted everything in its wake. Moving with a sludging sound, the creature emerged from the thicket and stumbled down to the water._

_In the light of the moon, the creature looked less like a monster and more like a human. One pale and hairless, crippled and weak. Obviously injured, the creature grunted, hissed, and slinked closer to the water’s edge. The dark water lapped against stone and soil, beckoning. Black substance oozed out of every orifice of the creature’s body: its mouth, its nose, its eyes, its ears, and even an apparent injury on its forearm. In the background, the forest continued to shudder and shriek in dismay._

_Upon the lake’s surface, the moon’s image seemed to have grown even larger. The pool remained still, until the creature’s black pollution dripped into its waters, and everything was wrong._

_The water came to life immediately, and the inky solution spread out rapidly and shot out in all directions. Soon the water was blacker than the deepest parts of the Earth, and where the mirror of the moon lay the water began to bubble._

_The creature itself watched in shock as something new materialized out of the depths. Frightened, the pale creature backed away from the slime now creeping onto shore. This new creature could not be anything but a monster, composed purely of darkness. It pulled itself to the Earth like a kraken. White limbs of flesh broke free and tore at the muck that clung to an invisible body._

_Despite the pale creature’s weak attempts to skitter away, the monster knew it was there. It saw its summoner and crept forward. The creature only had time shout prematurely in agony before the monster swallowed it whole._

_And Lydia, who saw the whole thing, screamed for her life._

“Lydia?”

Lydia gasped awake, throwing her fist forward and coming in contact with something hard.

“MOTHERF-” Someone cursed. Oops.

“Jackson?” Lydia blinked herself back into reality. She sat up on the bed quickly and saw Jackson wobbling backwards with his hands over his face. 

“You punched me,” Jackson stated in shock. Oh.

“Sorry,” she stressed, “I didn’t mean to! But, I mean, you’ll heal, right?” 

Jackson lowered his hands to give her the full effect of a blankface. Unphased, Lydia shrugged.

“Hey, watch the blood! I don’t want any dripping on the carpet!” She scolded. 

Jackson hurried into the bathroom as Lydia slipped out of the bed. Judging by the amount of sunlight spilling into the room, it was most likely late morning. 

“You were screaming.” Jackson’s voice came from the bathroom. 

Lydia frowned, “I was?”

“Yup,” Jackson appeared in the doorframe, looking at his girlfriend both curiously and with worry, “You must have been having a nightmare. You were screaming so I tried to wake you up, but that’s when you punched me in the face.”

“I said I was sorry,” Lydia sidetracked. The crystalline images of her dream were still vivid in her mind, and she was doing her best to shake them off, “What time is it, what does that clock say? Yeah, I definitely have to go to work soon.”

She began busying around the room, pulling out clothes and fixing her hair. Jackson, who she kept her back to, sort of hovered around uncertainly.

“Do you...” He started slowly, “Do you want to talk... about it?”

“Not really,” Lydia breathed, keeping to her tasks.

Jackson sighed, “Look, I know everyone around here kinda thinks you're crazy from last semester, but -”

Lydia turned a glare with him, unimpressed and warning.

“But!” Jackson held his hands up, “I don’t, obviously! And you’re not, it all turned out to be related. And I wasn’t there before - but in my defense I was a possessed lizard so you should really be more upset with McCall and them - but I’m... here _now_.”

Lydia stared at him skeptically. He looked genuine, but she had to point out, “Yeah, but you also ditched me for werewolf powers before that.”

“Yeah,” Jackson’s eyes widened, “and I ended up becoming a possessed lizard!”

Lydia laughed, not really sure why because it wasn’t that funny. But at the same time, everything was just so ridiculous. Twiddling her fingers, she went to sit back on the bed. Jackson quickly sat next to her, watching her patiently. They were supposed to be together now, for better or for worse. With all the supernatural mumbo jumbo out in the open, things became easier between them. Maybe now wasn’t the time for Lydia to be keeping these things to herself. They could become important, or terrifying if it was anything like the last time. 

“I... haven’t had a dream like that in a while,” she explained carefully, “not since Peter Hale came back.”

Delicately, Lydia described her dream to the best of her ability. Jackson listened apprehensively, and she was thankful for him. Five months ago, he probably would have shrugged her off. It was kind of uncanny how monsters and despair can bring people closer together.

When she was done recounting her dream, Lydia studied Jackson’s reaction. He looked like somebody tore out a few brain cells.

“That sounds...” Jackson paused, “problematic.”

Lydia rolled her eyes, “It’s probably just a nightmare. With the things I’ve now seen? It’s not surprising.”

She stood up and continued getting ready for work. 

“Yeah well, do you think it means anything?” Jackson asked.

Lydia shrugged. She honestly didn’t know anymore. For all she knew, she could still be losing it.

“It’s just one dream.” One very frightening, very real-feeling dream. On a night of the full moon. Which reminded her.

“We’re good for tonight, right? Like, no more danger or inappropriate bondage?”

Jackson flopped back onto the bad, arms spread.

“Yes,” He sounded exasperated, “We’ve been good since June and it’s August.”

“Okay, but you’re still moody,” she joked. A smirk played on Jackson’s lips. Lydia was getting used to all of it. Soon she could team up with Allison to write a book on _How to Tame your Werewolf Boyfriend_. 

But then Lydia remembered that Allison was gone. Well, gone from Beacon Hills. She would have shared this crazy with Allison, who had much more experience with the supernatural than Lydia. For a moment, Lydia considered sending Allison a text or an e-mail but quickly thought otherwise. Allison had escaped Beacon Hills to get _away_ from all things spooky and surreal. Lydia didn’t want to drag her best friend out of peace just for one dream, no matter now much Lydia was missing her best friend.

“Something wrong?” Jackson was watching her. She had been standing in silence for probably a minute.

“Oh, no nothing,” Lydia assured. 

The rest of the time it took her to get ready for work was in silence. All finished and set to leave, she went to say goodbye to Jackson. He had fallen over against her bed’s headboard, staring up at the ceiling with a ponderous expression. Lydia smiled; he was worried about her. 

“Hey,” She called for his attention. Invading his personal space, she prodded his bare chest where there was still a red speck of blood from earlier. 

“You missed a spot.” 

He raised an eyebrow, but an ever so slight smile appeared on Jackson’s face. She bent over and pressed her lips gently to the corner of his mouth, lingering. Before he could return the kiss, Lydia pulled away.

“Can’t!” She said, despite Jackson’s betrayed expression, “Gonna be late!” 

Lydia twirled, grabbed her bag and added, “Parents are gone, so if you’re going to stick around just don’t make a mess.”

Since Jackson had been a part of her life for so long, she was comfortable with just leaving him in her room until he felt bothered to start the day. Her parents familiar with Jackson, and used to be welcoming. But lately they were just as wary of Jackson and their own daughter as the rest of the town. 

For a long time, Lydia had witnessed her parents arguing and growing apart. Now, their bitterness toward each other accelerated under the subject of Lydia. Naturally they were worried when their daughter began screaming in the middle of the night and began sleepwalking. However, instead of talking to her themselves, they argued with each other about what to do, set her up with Ms. Morrell at the school, and kept their distance. Lydia admittedly felt minorly guilty for straining her parent’s already fragile relationship. However, she was mostly perturbed that her own parents treated her as a mental patient as well, and they kept subsequently taking away more of her privileges. Lydia liked her privileges. 

So, to equally put a distance between herself and her disappointing parents, Lydia took on her first part time job that summer. After having to figure out the supernatural deal in Beacon Hills on her own, she thought self-sufficiency suited her. Plus, a job would look really good on her college applications. The trouble was that, with her newfound reputation as a local loony, Lydia had trouble landing a job despite her academic stature. Luckily, one place did hire her, and with no reluctance either.

The only place in Beacon Hills that would hire Lydia was a small bakery downtown owned by a very old Polish couple. The Stanisbergs, Bolek and Kazia, did not speak a lot of English. Primarily they spoke Polish with broken yiddish terms thrown in, and Lydia had a hard time understanding them just through their thick accents alone. But the job was very straightforward - frosting, cupcakes, tarts, pies - and everyday Lydia picked up more and more of the language. At least she was learning something from it. Polish was easy as pie compared to archaic Latin.

Bolek and Kazia, though very hostile in their harmless, but frequent arguments with each other, were very sweet to Lydia. They allowed Lydia a lot of freedom, like texting, let her help herself to treats most of the time. Which was dangerous, because Lydia would have rather been losing pounds than gaining them. But, it was really hard to say no to Kazia’s marzipan.

They also didn’t complain when Jackson came in so often to just linger around and mooch. 

“Jackson!” Lydia reprimanded, “If you’re going to just sit there, you have to actually buy something.”

“You know I can’t indulge,” he told her flatly, “I’ll lose my shape before lacrosse season.”

Of course, he said that as he nicked another pizzelle. Lydia glared. He was lying to himself and them all. 

“Is alright,” Kazia always interjected, laughing and petting Lydia’s hair, “pretty girl has pretty boyfriend. But you’re both too skinny!”

Kazia Stanisberg liked to fawn over Lydia, which of course Lydia didn’t mind at all. She was a spicy old woman, tiny and gray. Her husband, Bolek, was also thin in his old age, but he still maintained a surprising amount of upper body muscle. He hunched over as he hobbled around the bakery, teasing Lydia innocently whenever he could. 

One day, when Jackson and Danny were both visiting, Bolek came out to the front counter, which is where Lydia worked. He started probing Jackson. 

“Hey boy, when are you going to pop the question to our favorite girl, here? Before you’re too old, huh?”

Jackson’s face became ghostly pale, “Uhh...”

Danny, meanwhile, chortled into his tea. 

“Mr. Stanisberg, please,” Lydia blushed.

“What?” He asked in mock innocence, “you said you’d been dating this boy for four years. Well, I’m getting old here. At this rate, I’ll be in the ground by the time you two have kids!”

“Mr. Stanisberg!!” Lydia cried in dismay.

“Jackson, wait!” Danny hollered at the now swinging door that Jackson had just fled through. He sprinted after his friend. Bolek hooted with laughter.

“Oh, Bolek, stop,” Kazia called from the kitchens in back, “you’re embarrassing her!”

“What!” Bolek guffawed, “If doesn’t propose, I will!”

“You can’t propose, you crusty old man!”

“Eh! Why not! She’s a lot prettier than you are! And nicer!”

“Oh, I’ll give you nice!”

Their shouting continued in the kitchen, and Lydia was left in the front to consider her life choices. 

Working the counter of the bakery, Lydia came in contact with plenty of familiar faces. Scott and Isaac Lahey came in occasionally to pay a visit, or to badger her into giving them free cake slices. Lydia was beginning to get to know Isaac better, who she’d never really interacted with before the whole werewolf ordeal. Although, the more he came in with Scott, the more Lydia suspected that Isaac had a little crush. Now, whenever Lydia saw Scott, there was Isaac following him around like a lost puppy. Literally. She wondered what Allison would think of that. Scott, of course, was oblivious of the fond looks Isaac sent his way. Plus, Lydia was pretty confident that Scott McCall was strictly Allison-sexual. 

Maybe she could set Isaac up with Danny if he swung that way. Danny could use a sweet kid like Isaac. Then again, Isaac was kind of a werewolf and Danny was still relatively new to the werewolf information. But he had taken it surprisingly well when Jackson had told him. If Lydia remembered correctly, it had been soon after the night Jackson had apparently died. Jackson had shown up at Danny’s house to explain things and...

“Um... I can explain,” Jackson had started slowly. He hadn’t gotten very far, though, because Danny had slammed his head with a lacrosse stick, screaming something about zombies.

Yes, it had gone very well.

Okay, maybe Lydia would wait before setting one of her best friends up with a supernatural creature. 

But, Lydia was pretty sure that Danny was the only other person in their group of friends that was aware of Isaac’s case of puppy love. Whenever Danny was around to witness Isaac’s interactions with Scott, Lydia caught Danny observing with a raised eyebrows. Then, he’d exchange glances with Lydia, and the two would nod at each other knowingly. For now, Lydia would watching from afar, humming a tune from her dreams.

To Bolek and Kazia’s delight, Bolek’s Bakery became a frequent hangout for Lydia’s remaining friends. They hailed her for bringing young people through their doors that weren’t homeless-looking hipsters.

But, her friends weren’t the only familiar faces Lydia got to see working at Bolek’s. The Bakery was the only place in Beacon Hills that made and sold doughnuts. Needless to say, they were always very popular with the police station. Quickly she got to recognize most of the force. She saw Sheriff Stilinski often, too, and Lydia always liked how respectful and normally he treated Lydia. Plus, he adored Lydia. And how could he not? Like father like son, Lydia supposed.

“I thought the whole police officers eating doughnuts was a stereotype,” Lydia asked Sheriff Stilinski one day. 

“You’d think that, wouldn’t you,” the Sheriff said as he ordered a chocolate glazed doughnut for himself.

The officer behind the sheriff, one Lydia had never seen before, eyed the selection of pastries anxiously. 

“A dozen of the vanilla frosted!” He requested. Lydia raised her eyebrows; that was a lot of doughnuts for just one guy.

The sheriff sighed and rolled his eyes.

“Where’s Jonathan?” Lydia asked. Jonathan was the name of the deputy that usually rode on patrol with the sheriff.

“Oh,” the sheriff said, “This, Lydia, by the way, is Touya. He’s a transfer, and he’s riding with me today so I can... show him the ropes. Touya, this is Lydia, a friend of my son’s.”

The deputy, Touya, reached over the counter and shook Lydia’s hand excitedly, “Wow! Nice to meet you!” 

She almost laughed, “Oh okay!?” This guy was the most upbeat person Lydia had ever met. She packed away their two doughnut orders. When they were paying, Sheriff Stilinski’s tone dropped.

“Can you... do me a favor, too?”

Lydia perked up.

He leaned forward and whispered, “Don’t tell Stiles about all the doughnuts.”

Lydia pinched her lips sealed, nodding. The kind sheriff smiled his thanks for her discretion and returned to his duties. 

Despite Lydia’s genuine promise, though, that didn’t stop Stiles Stilinski from walking in the next day, flailing.

“You fed my dad doughnuts?!”

Besides Jackson, Stiles was probably Lydia’s most consistent customer. He came in usually every Monday, Wednesday, and Saturday to buy at least a cupcake. At first, Lydia had been wary of Stiles spending so much time around her still. She was happy to be back together with Jackson and Stiles knew that. Still, apparently Stiles still had feelings for her and wasn’t _completely_ giving up. Which annoyed her, and she would often get short with him about it. But at least nowadays Stiles didn’t so much linger pathetically, and he actually talked to Lydia. That was nice. Lydia liked Stiles, she really did. She just didn’t _like_ Stiles like he wanted her to. 

“I work in a bakery,” she explained to him, “do you expect me to say ‘No, you can’t buy things here, leave!’”

“Yes,” Stiles said. Well.

“Stiles!!” Kazia shot out of the kitchen, faster than a woman her age should be capable of. She made a beeline for the boy, grabbing his face and pressing a dozen kisses to his face. The Stanisbergs, Lydia had quickly learned, _loved_ Stiles. Lydia had a suspicion it was because Stiles was one of the few Jewish boys in Beacon Hills. But, that couldn’t be the only reason they liked him. Almost everyone in their small town knew the son of the sheriff, and Stiles was just a generally likable person. He was practically a son to the whole town.

“Ah...” Stiles rubbed his poor assaulted face, “how are you today, Mrs. Stanisberg?”

Lydia smiled at them as she filled a tray with loaves of bread. They were always nice to watch together.

“Look at you,” Kazia squeeze Stiles’ stomach, making the boy jerk violently, “you’re still too skinny. Lydia! Give him one of the... one of the croissants!” 

“Oh no that’s okay,” Stiles started, “I only came - MMF!” 

Kazia stuffed a croissant in Stiles’ face.

“Eat! EAT!” 

Though Lydia knew they meant no harm, the Stanisbergs usually tried to needle Lydia into dating Stiles. She was pretty sure Stiles had nothing to do with it, but she still found herself somewhere between frustrated and entertained whenever Bolek told her, “You could marry a nice Jewish boy, not some schmuck with a fancy car.”

Though that was somewhat true, and Jackson was a ‘schmuck with a fancy car,’ Lydia liked him anyways. 

The month of August carried on like this, friends and acquaintances stopping by, causing Lydia either trouble or joy. She had her dates with Jackson at night, she sent Allison texts - though none of them containing anything remotely freaky or out of this world, she avoided her parents, and worked in a bakery. A week before school started, Melissa McCall came into the bakery, looking frazzled.

“Lydia! Thank goodness,” Mrs. McCall approached the counter, where Lydia had frozen up in wait. 

“Yes?” Lydia prompted tensely.

“Scott’s birthday is _tomorrow_ , and I forgot to order a cake,” Mrs. McCall explained, “Any chance you guys can have one ready?”

“Oh,” Lydia relaxed, “Yeah of course.”

Lydia grabbed one of her order slips as Mrs. McCall sighed with relief.

“So what kind of cake did you want?” Lydia asked, pen in her hand and at the ready.

“Chocolate, definitely chocolate,” Mrs. McCall said as Lydia filled out her order slip. 

“And frosting?”

“Probably chocolate, too,” Mrs. McCall rolled her eyes, “his tastes aren’t very exciting. Or mature.”

Lydia nodded, “Did you want any writing, decoration?”

Mrs. McCall thought for a moment, “Well, it should say ‘Happy 17th Birthday Scott’ and... well what do you think? Can Kazia do a lacrosse stick? Or a paw print? ...Full moon?”

“I could ask them if they could bake in Kibbles ‘n Bits,” Lydia suggested, “they probably wouldn’t ask any questions.”

For a second, Mrs. McCall looked like she was actually considering it. Then she shook her head, “You know what, I’ll stick to the lacrosse stick, even though he’s getting too old for stuff like that.”

“Ookay,” Lydia jotted down the last of the order, “You can pick it up tomorrow, probably after noon.”

Mrs. McCall’s face fell, “No earlier than that?”

“Well... they already have a few orders to complete tonight...” Lydia watched as Mrs. McCall struggled with how to make that work for her.

Lydia shrugged, “Or I can drop it off at your house tomorrow after work.”

Mrs. McCall brightened again, “Really! Oh, that would be perfect, thank you Lydia!”

She brought out her checkbook, completed the order, and hustled out the door, “And I’m making dinner tomorrow, so you’ll be there, right? Thanks again, you’re a lifesaver!” 

Yep, that was Lydia. Who needed sharp claws and super strength when she had pastry puffs and lemon squares? Take that, forces of evil!

The next day, Lydia arrived at the McCall’s house around six o’clock, a cake in her arms and a boyfriend in her wake.

“Why did I have to come?” Jackson whined for umpteenth time that day.

“Because, _Jackson_ ,” Lydia explained shortly, ringing the doorbell, “When a guy helps you with your werewolf problems, you show up on their birthday with food. Even if you have your petty boy-pride issues.”

She was already rolling her eyes when Jackson responded, “Yeah, but, that’s all fixed now so can’t we all go back to - OW!”

Lydia had kicked him in the shin.

The door flew open, “Lydia!”

Oh Jesus Christ, “Hi Stiles.”

“And Jackson,” Stiles added curtly, quickly returning his smile to Lydia. 

“I brought cake,” Lydia announced.

“Cake?!” two voices exclaimed. Scott and Isaac appeared in the doorframe, eyeing Lydia’s package like vultures.

“I need more estrogen in my life,” Lydia muttered to herself. 

“Oh good, you made it!” Mrs. McCall pushed the crowd of sweet-starved teenage boys out of her way, “Come in!” 

Mrs. McCall led Lydia and Jackson into the house, taking the cake and dropping it off in the kitchen. Scott followed her eagerly.

“Is it chocolate? It’s chocolate right? Please tell me it’s chocolate.” 

“Oh God, Scott, shut up.”

Lydia had only been in the McCall’s house twice before. The first time was during Jackson’s second full moon, when they had surrendered their basement for ‘training.’ Jackson was still rusty at the control thing, but with Scott and Isaac - and Scott’s boss who of Lydia was still unsure what he had to do with everything - playing bodyguard, there’d been no way Jackson was getting past the basement door. The second time was during Jackson’s third full moon, under which he basically acted like a harmless sucker.

She had noticed it the first time, and she noticed it again now. The McCall’s home was significantly smaller than either Lydia’s or Jackson’s, which had made Lydia feel slightly uncomfortable. But, there was a quality to the home that neither Lydia’s or Jackson’s house had. It was... cozy. Quaint, and the house host an atmosphere of love and warmth that Lydia hadn’t grown up with. Lydia started to wish she could spend more time there. 

Mrs. McCall made some kind of bizarre hamburger pie - apparently Scott’s favorite - that Lydia was nervous to touch. When the boys digged into enthusiastically, Lydia herself gave it a try. It was... interesting. But at least it was a peaceful, homely dinner.

“Isn’t this nice,” Mrs. McCall commented towards the end of the meal, “it’s like everyone’s together, your whole - what do you call it? Your pack?”

Scott choked on his food, “M-mom! Don’t, please.”

“What?” she looked confused, “Isn’t that what you guys call it, a wolf pack? Or is that too old-fashioned. Wolf posse?” 

“MOM!” Scott’s ears were turning red.

“Hey, I’m just trying to get the whole werewolf lingo down, okay? I can do it, I can be hip to your jive.”

Stiles burst out laughing, while his best friend suffered from embarrassment. 

“I like ‘wolf posse,’” Stiles commented, “Or how about wolf gang. Wolf thugs, the Howling Habaneros!!” 

Jackson shook his head at Stiles, ashamed.

“Okay, okay,” Mrs. McCall retreated, “I get it. I’ll just go clean up now.”

“Oh, I’ll help you!” Lydia offered, which earned her a smile from the world’s coolest mom. 

While the boys went off to do... boy things, Lydia helped Mrs. McCall with the dishes. Mrs. McCall would wash and hand them off to Lydia to dry. In the midst of their chore, Mrs McCall awkward posed a question to Lydia.

“Now... I don’t know about Scott. If he did, he didn’t tell me, but... have you heard from Allison?”

Lydia wiped a pan clean and set in on the counter, “Well, not today. Sometimes she sends me texts, to at least let me know she’s alive. I don’t think she texts Scott, though, I think she just expects me to pass on the notification.” 

“I see...” Mrs. McCall frowned.

Lydia bit her lip, “Did Scott... did you know _everything_ that happened with Allison?”

They were talking in hush tones. Which was probably in vain, since seventy-five percent of the boys in the other room had super hearing.

“I think more or less, I do know everything,” Mrs. McCall answered carefully, “I sort of had to read between the lines.”

Lydia remembered how Allison explained everything, everything about her family and her brief crazy period to Lydia before she left Beacon Hills. Suddenly all the translations Allison had asked for, and the family history phase had all suddenly made sense to Lydia. She had only wished they could have conferred more with each other when it had really mattered.

Just then, a loud slam came from the other room.

“Oops” said the chorus of four male voices. 

Mrs. McCall shot out of the kitchen, “Scott! What the hell did you just do!” 

Humming, Lydia continued to towel dishes dry as Stiles burst into the kitchen. 

“Everything’s alright!” He exclaimed, “everyone is fine because everyone has super powers... except me, so I’m just gonna...”

He went to the freezer and pulled out an ice pack and pressed it to his temple. Lydia smiled at him reassuringly without really stopping doing anything, until she realized Stiles’ was watching her with a dazed expression. But, that was common behavior from him around Lydia.

“What?” 

“I know that song,” He said. Well, that was certainly unexpected. Also, it was impossible since Lydia had been humming the song she’d heard in her dream, which hadn’t even been in a recognizable language.

She scoffed, “I’m pretty sure that you don’t.”

“No, no, I do!” Stiles insisted, and then he began to sing the same song in little ‘do-do-do’s, for even longer than he had heard Lydia. 

Lydia gaped at him, “H-how?!”

The only person Lydia had told about her dream from the last full moon had been Jackson, and she was almost positive that Jackson wasn’t having buddy-buddy time with Stiles Stilinski and sharing information regarding Lydia. 

Stiles shrugged, “I... just do. Where do you know that song.”

Lydia reclined away from him slightly, “Umm... just somewhere.”

“Lydia.”

“Believe me, you wouldn’t know,” she pressed.

“Try me.” 

She studied him. He looked concerned, but also intrigued. Lydia actually wondered if Stiles would end up having some sort of explanation towards her dream. Still trying to convince herself that was nothing, she hadn’t looked into at all. But, Stiles was smart. Not as smart as Lydia, obviously, but smarter than Jackson. And, he knew the song? Lydia found that peculiar.

Taking a deep breath, she released, “I heard it in a dream.”

“A dream?” Stiles’ eyebrows shot up, “Or... a vision?”

“I don’t know!” Lydia hissed. While everyone else fussed about something in the other room, Lydia described her whole dream from August’s full moon to Stiles. He gave her his full attention the whole time, until she reached the very end.

“And then I screamed and punched Jackson in the face.”

Stiles snorted, but then immediately retracted his amusement when Lydia gave him a serious look. 

“Okay, well. That’s certainly _something_.”

Lydia shuffled her feet, “No, it might not be anything.”

“ _Lydia_ ,” Stiles stressed, “don’t try to shrug this off! I mean, I have no idea what it means, but it could be bad for you! So don’t worry, I’m definitely going to figure it out.”

Oh no, “No, no, don’t do that,” she pleaded.

“Of course I will!” Stiles grinned, “it’s the least I can do!”

“You don’t owe me anything, Stiles,” Lydia got curt.

Stiles blinked and pulled his lips tight together. Then he added, “I know - I know, but... but you know I like you as, _as a friend_ -” Liar “- and we’re being friends, so... this is what friends do.”

With narrowed eyes, Lydia considered him lengthily. If he was trying to get over her, this really wasn’t the way. 

She threw her hands up in surrender, “Whatever. But I’m saying that you don’t have to, and that I don’t even really _want_ you to.”

“Hey, it’s no problem,” he smiled sweetly.

The sound of the doorbell rang throughout the house, and so did Scott’s cry of “I got it!!” A few seconds later, Lydia heard the sheriff wishing Scott a happy birthday.

“Dad!!” and before Lydia could realize, Stiles was ditching her in the kitchen. Soon, she also went out to join everybody else watch Scott open presents. Admittedly, the amount was scarce compared to the amount Lydia usually got. Although she probably wouldn’t have a huge birthday bash ever again, so she wouldn’t be expecting the usual fifty or so in 2013. This small birthday gathering for Scott, though, was probably more special than any of her extravagant parties. 

Lydia was beginning to learn these things, but she still _really_ liked the super parties. 

As she watched Scott smile with everyone that had come to wish him a happy seventeenth, Lydia could not help but notice the small hint of sadness hidden away there. He probably wished Allison could have been there. 

It got late, and Jackson and Lydia were about to leave. She was about to go thank Mrs. McCall for inviting her, but she stopped when she noticed that it was just Mrs. McCall and Sheriff Stilinski alone in the kitchen. They were innocently cleaning up, but they were laughing and being playful with each other. 

_Hmm..._

“Ready?” Jackson asked behind her.

“Oh, yeah,” Lydia turned away from the two adults in the kitchen. At this rate, Lydia was going to have a lot of matchmaking to do. Isaac and Danny, Mrs. McCall and the sheriff... and Stiles with anyone but her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was my favorite chapter to write so far, I'm really enjoying writing from Lydia's POV! The bakery aspect was just a whim, and for some reason I like to imagine that the Stilinski family is Jewish. Why? Ehhh I don't have a very good reason, other than the fact that their last name is pretty East Europe and I would love to hear Stiles say words like 'mashugana.'
> 
> Also, how cute would it be if everyone celebrated Hannukah at the Stilinskis and Christmas at the McCalls? d'awww


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek goes to the library; Stiles is already there. Also, his mother pays him another visit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's this, a chapter under 5000 words? It's a miracle! Sigh.
> 
> Actually, I wish I could have released a longer chapter this week since this fic will probably suffer a brief hiatus. Why? Because if you haven't heard, MTV is hosting a competition for Teen Wolf fanfiction, and the winner gets to fly to LA to meet Jeff Davis and the writing staff. Am I entering? Hell yes. Unfortunately, one chapter of this fanfic alone exceeds their maximum of 3000 words. Right now I'm juggling a few ideas to follow. If you guys have found any themes in this fic so far that you think I should per sue or incorporate, let me know! And wish me luck, as I will wish all of you that are entering luck as well.
> 
> Without further ado, your Sterek -

Derek could not remember the last time he was in Beacon Hills’ library. Or any library. Years ago, he simply relied on the Hale’s private library if he wanted books. And high school, he hadn’t exactly been the ‘let’s study in the library’ type. It was possible that he this was his first time in the town’s library at all.

The library was downtown, slightly off of Main Street. It was probably one of the largest buildings in Beacon Hills that wasn’t the high school or Derek’s own house. Possibly it was older than his house, though, standing up on old wood beneath chipping white paint. The main entrance had a porch, which Derek suspected wasn’t built on to more modern libraries. 

Inside, the whole building was two stories of one room. On the first floor, everything was open and there were tables separated by rows of bookshelves and computers here and there, up against the wall. In two corners of the room were spiral staircases that led up to a hollow second floor. 

Though he would have once been distracted by all the fictional literature, old spines and aged pages, Derek had come to the library for a very specific reason. 

He walked through the aisles of books, trying to act casual. Truth be told, he felt incredibly exposed. Even though he had made a strict decision for himself, Derek was slightly ashamed that he had to make it in the first place. He didn’t like what this situation said about him, what it revealed. It was a academic predicament with an extremely personal connotation. 

He knew he was in the right section when he saw textbooks and awkward teenagers hauling SAT prep books. A girl even noticed Derek momentarily and quickly skittered away with an AP test booklet in hand. 

Scanning the shelves, Derek saw all the thick books he had once studied but never got the chance to make anything of them. Collegeboard, SATs, AP, LSATs, STAR, but the book Derek ended up picking?

_McGraw-Hill GED: The Most Complete and Reliable Study Program for the GED Tests_

Derek had a lot hanging over his head, and if there was something he could do to relieve one of those burdens, why not go for it? Albeit, solidifying his high school education was the least of his worries. Still it was all he could do for now. 

Picking a few more options, Derek flipped through the textbooks while standing. A lot of the information he scanned through was vaguely familiar. Other chapters sounded completely foreign to Derek after years away from concepts like abstract algebra. Did people really need so many theorems in everyday life?

He was flipping through a geometry chapter when his keen nose picked up a familiar scent. Sniffing the air - and getting some strange looks from the teenager closest to him, who quickly turned away - Derek could have sworn that he recognized the smell. It was sweet, like maple syrup maybe? But there was also an underlying hint of moss and wood that was distinct. Derek looked around but didn’t see anyone, but then again the tall bookcases made it too difficult to see anything besides the ceiling in this library. As the smell seemed to grow stronger and closer, Derek quickly realized where he knew the scent from. Like from a minimart, or a dozen more unwelcomed interactions... but he realized too late.

“What ya got there?”

Derek turned around to find Stiles Stilinski peering curiously at the books under Derek’s right arm, which Derek did his best to conceal.

Narrowing his eyes, Derek flatly said, “Nothing.”

Stiles looked from Derek, to the hidden books under his arm, to the books along the shelf.

“Aren’t you a little old to be taking the PSATs?” He snorted.

“I am _not_ taking the PSATs,” Derek growled, a little too loudly as he heard a few people nearby scurry away, and somewhere in the library somebody hissed “Shh!!” 

“Well,” Stiles said in a quieter tone, “You’re _definitely_ too old to for the STARs.”

This was the last thing Derek needed, and he felt his face growing hot. He should have known he was making a mistake in the first place.

Derek, slammed the books back on one of the shelves, “You know what? I’m not taking anything.” 

Stalking away, Derek could never get too far before Stiles fumbled back into his space.

“Wait!” Stiles exclaimed, as quietly as he could. He placed a hand on Derek’s shoulder for him to stop, but Stiles immediately snatched his hand back when Derek fixed him an incredulous look.

“You’re taking the GED?” He asked. Derek glanced down and saw that Stiles had retrieved the books that Derek had abandoned.

“No,” said Derek, with an emphasis on _Leave me alone_. 

“You’re taking the GED?” Stiles repeated, apparently not buying it. Studying Stiles’ face, Derek thought the kid looked a little lost, slightly hopeful, and very much engaged. 

“What do you want?” Derek asked in a low voice. 

“Why?” But Stiles quickly shook his, “No, I... I didn’t know you didn’t graduate.” 

“Yeah, well,” Derek ripped the books back from Stiles, letting his predicament hang in the air. About to turn and leave, Derek stopped when Stiles threw another wild question in his direction.

“Are there krakens in Beacon Hills?” _What?_

Derek faced Stiles staunchly, “Excuse me?”

“Or like,” Stiles gestured vaguely, “lochness monster type things, down in Melpine Lake?”

“No? I don’t know,” Derek was confused, “Why?”

“You’re a resident supernatural creature, wouldn’t you know of other supernatural creatures?”

“No,” Derek again tried to leave.

“ _And_ ,” Stiles stopped him with his voice once more, “I know what the sign on your front door was. And... that might not be our only problem?”

That got Derek’s attention. How did he figure out the Alpha symbol, and what possible other threats could this town throw at him now?

“What,” Derek asked slowly, “other problem?”

But instead of answering Derek directly, Stiles took off down the aisles with a simple, “Come with me.” And at first, Derek held his ground, because teenagers didn’t tell him what to do. But when Stiles noticed that Derek wasn’t following him, he rolled his eyes, backtracked, grabbed Derek’s sleeve and dragged with a surprising amount of strength that Derek wouldn’t have thought Stiles was capable. Derek let himself be dragged for some reason more than curiosity, despite his ever present instincts to _retreat!_

Stiles led Derek to a more secluded corner of the library, blocked off by walls of books. There were two tables behind these partitions, one empty and one with a few dozen books stacked and splayed out upon it. Derek quickly noticed that the books weren’t average textbooks. Instead, he saw old volumes of encyclopedias and histories, storybooks and classics. 

“What is all this?” Derek asked.

“Lydia had a dream,” Stiles said, which didn’t really answer anything at all.

Derek waited, and when no further explanation came, he raised an eyebrow at Stiles, “So?”

“So,” Stiles rummaged sloppily through the collection he’d gathered, “So it had nothing to do with an alpha pack, _that’s_ for sure.” 

“Wait,” Derek froze, “how do you know about that?”

Stiles stopped and looked up at Derek and took a deep breath, “Well, I’ve seen your triskelion, since apparently you hate clothes or something, and I looked it up the first time I saw it, just because, and thought ‘those things don’t look like legs at all!’ But then with the Celtic definitions it kinda made sense, and at first I thought it meant the three worlds, you know, the Other, the Mortal, and the Celestial? But then wow, that would have been a lot of firepower to consider, and since the spirals indicate and ever-changing cycle, I thought to a werewolf it would probably mean Alpha, Beta, Omega. But the one on your door, those weren’t spirals. Those were legs, that’s an actual simplified Sicilian triskelion. Where the legs kinda mean the three tops, and that’s not a cycle, that’s a constant, so... yeah. I just sorta... figured.”

And Stiles shrugged. 

Derek, though, had to sit down. Apparently Boyd wasn’t the only one to have figured it out. 

“I don’t really know what it’s doing on your door, though,” Stiles admitted, “but hey, maybe it is related to Lydia’s dream.”

“What is all of this about a dream Lydia had, and why are you bothering me with it?” Derek questioned.

“I told her I’d help her solve it,” Stiles held himself up a little taller. _Oh_.

“So, you want me to help you impress a girl you want to date?” Derek might have let his amusement show.

“It’s not that!” Stiles was loud enough for someone to shush them from across the library. He lowered himself, glaring at Derek, “In case you forgot, the last time Lydia was having nightmares, your psychotic uncle _came back from the dead_.”

Stiles had a point, but Derek could hear the slightest dishonesty behind his reasoning. 

“Yeah?” Derek scoffed, “And what makes you think anything this time is relevant or real?”

“Well,” Stiles started, “She saw Gerard Argent.”

Derek blinked, “What?”

“She doesn’t know she saw him,” Stiles continued, “And okay I’m not positive. But she described seeing a pale, hairless creature bleeding black, and with a wound on it’s right limb. That’s where you bit him, right? At least, that’s where Scott said he made you bite him, heh. Anyways, doesn’t that sound suspicious?”

“That doesn't sound very convincing. This wasn't even something you saw yourself, and Lydia knows what Gerard looks like.”

Stiles laughed nervously, “You don't always recognize people you know in dreams! Plus, it was dark in her dream, he was crippled, and apparently something ate him.”

Once again, Derek was forced to ask, “What?”

“I don’t know!” Stiles waved his arms, “She said she saw a monster crawl out of the lake and eat a bleeding creature! That’s why I asked you if we have a lochness monster thing.”

“The lochness monster doesn’t exist,” Derek chided.

Stiles looked bemused, “Yeah, and neither do werewolves.” 

In all honesty, Derek had heard his family discuss a few waterbred creatures. Derek hadn’t been sure if they actually existed, though. Based on folklore alone, there were a thousand possibilities that Lydia of which could have dreamed. He couldn’t help Stiles here, even if he wanted to.

“Look, as ridiculous and far-fetched as this all sounds,” Derek said, “I can’t help you.”

“What about the alphas,” Stiles tried, “What if this is your uncle? What if he’s working with them, and is using Lydia again?”

Derek frowned. Could that be possible? He’d be lying if he said that he had never suspected his uncle of conniving with the alphas as soon as Derek saw the symbol on his front door.

“If that’s the case, then I’d stop all this right now,” Derek nodded to the vast collection of research, “you’d be in over your head.”

“What, and you’re not?” Stiles challenged.

“With what?” Derek grew impatient.

Stiles glanced down at the GED books still in Derek’s possession, a smug expression playing across his face.

“I’ve been to high school,” Derek snarled.

“Yeah, six years ago. What do you actually remember, though?”

“Enough.”

“Name one act established during President Franklin Roosevelt’s first one hundred days in office?” Stiles challenged.

Derek wracked his brain, determined to prove he knew this stuff. But he stayed silent as all he could do was wonder which Roosevelt was which.

Stiles’ shoulders collapsed, “Seriously? See, this is why you need _my_ help if you’re going to pass that. I’m in high school, I’ve got all the inside information. And I’m decent at school.”

Considering all the deductions Stiles just described, Derek had a feeling Stiles was more than ‘decent’ at school. But that still didn’t mean that Derek wanted a teenager to be his tutor. 

“No, I’m doing this myself,” Derek answered.

“Come on!” Stiles pushed, “With my help you can take that test and pass it in October! I’ll tutor you with inane high school trivia, and you give me the supernatural 411 when I ask for it!”

As much as his pride forbade him from accepting tutelage from a sixteen year old brat, Derek _did_ want to get this education thing handled as quickly as possible. From what he had so far experienced, from Stiles and the books, this GED business was seeming harder than Derek had originally thought. A tiny feeling in him was convinced that it would take him forever to get it on his own, but that wasn’t enough for him to cave. 

“Please?” Stiles said after a moment of Derek’s silence.

“Fine,” Derek found himself agreeing, sighing reluctantly. As a result, Stiles smiled genuinely. That was unexpected.

“Okay, really? Wow,” Stiles was apparently shocked as well, “I guess in that case, get the McGraw-Hill copy, I’ll bring my school textbooks over Saturday.”

“What? You have nothing better to do on a Saturday?” Derek asked.

Stiles shrugged.

Then Derek remembered that he didn’t exactly want everyone where he lived to know about this task he’d set for himself. 

“Wait,” he said, “Can’t you come over Friday morning? If we’re going to... do this?” Peter would be working and Isaac would be... somewhere, Derek forgot. It would just be the construction crew.

But Stiles shook his head, “Uh... no. School kinda starts that day. Hence why I’d get my school books. Summer’s almost over, y’know.”

“Oh,” Derek said awkwardly. That would explain why Isaac would be gone. 

“So Saturday?” Stiles checked.

“Just so we’re clear,” Derek snapped, “You don’t tell anyone about this. Okay? Not even Scott.” Especially not Scott.

Stiles smirked, “Right.” He started stacking all the books he’d borrowed, when Derek realized something.

“Friday... Why would school start on a Friday just to hit the weekend?”

“Because school is all that is evil,” Stiles suggested.

“Friday is a full moon,” Derek countered.

Stiles looked up, “Oh.” 

Silence lingered between them for a brief moment.

“Well,” Stiles broke it, of course, “I can’t... I have to put these away, yeah.”

Naturally, Stiles attempted to lift all his books in one armful and it take very long for one or two to topple out of his clutch. And his pile was too high, so Stiles would only bump into shelves, corners, and people, causing more of a mess. Derek rolled his eyes and relieved Stiles of half of his load. Stiles gave him a wary look as Derek did so, but Derek only ignored him. He returned Stiles’ books in silence, check out his own, and left quietly while Stiles was still cleaning up after himself.

Derek drove home with his new GED book in the passenger seat. Looking at it only filled Derek with uncertainty and nerves. Was he doing the right thing? Was he making the right decision?

When he pulled in front of his house, Isaac was sitting on the front porch, which had been newly sanded and fixed. As every day went by, the house began to look more and more whole. It just didn’t feel whole.

“Where were you?” Isaac asked as Derek stepped out of the camaro. 

“Nowhere,” Derek answered. He purposely left the GED book in the front seat, deciding he’d return for it later when no one could see it. 

Isaac seemed to take that as a credible answer, as he continued to gaze up at the darkening sky. Derek hadn’t realized how late it was, the sky already transitioning from blue to a violet hue. 

Sitting down on the steps beside Isaac, Derek asked, “And what are you doing out here?”

“It’s a nice night,” Isaac said nonchalantly, “just thinking.”

“Oh.” Derek wasn’t sure if he was supposed to ask about what or not, so he opted for sharing a moment of appreciation for the view.

“You have school on Friday,” Derek brought up.

Isaac nodded.

“Do you...” Derek wasn’t really sure how to do this. He was only twenty-three years old, and he could have sworn he was starting his own senior year just the other day. “Do you need anything? Like, school supplies? Books, a backpack?”

Isaac choked back some laughter, “No, I have everything. Mrs. McCall gave me some things...”

“...That was nice of her,” Derek stared down at his feet, “Do you need a ride there?”

Shaking his head, Isaac answered, “Your uncle already said he’d drive me.”

“With my car?!” And great, even Peter was more aware of his pack than Derek was. 

Isaac chuckled, “Yeah, I guess so.”

Derek sighed, annoyed with all that his uncle chose to be and do. As they sat in sullenness, the sounds of the evening began to come alive. Crickets chirped and frogs peeped from within the wood that surrounded their vast home. 

“This would have been Erica’s and Boyd’s last year too,” Isaac said suddenly, and Derek felt sick. They still had no idea where two of their pack was, and if Derek had any ability to turn back time he would have done more to make them stay.

When Derek didn’t add anything, Isaac asked, “Do you think at this rate I’ll even make it to graduation?”

“I didn’t,” Derek admitted. Isaac’s face fell, and he nodded. There wasn’t much else to say. 

“I’m going inside.” Derek announced. Now was the time when he usually withdrew.

“Okay,” Isaac said, “I think I’ll stay out here, and wait for the stars to come out.” And Derek left him there, peering up at the infinite space.

That night, three phases before the full moon and before Isaac’s first day of school, Derek saw his mother again.

_“I like this,” She held a test booklet in her hands, “You did the right thing.”_

_The two of them were standing in the Hale Mansion’s biggest room. According to his father, it had been designed as a ballroom, but they’d never held such occasions while Derek was alive. Instead, the modern Hale family used it as a large family room. It was grand and rectangular, tall to the ceiling. Located on the first floor in the westernmost wing of the home, the west wall was all windows that allowed the setting sun to cast its harsh rays through the trees and into their midst. Derek’s mother stood in the center of the room, light hitting the right side of her and creating a halo effect over her dark, raven hair. She looked no older nor no younger than last time Derek saw her six years ago as she smiled down at the booklet in her hands._

_“Mom?” Derek croaked._

_Her eyes came up to rest on her son’s face, “You were always smart when you tried. I think you would have gone to a good college, and I’ve always been upset that you never graduated.”_

_Derek stood a good nine feet away from his mother, frozen in time. He looked to his right into one of the golden-framed mirrors they’d hung when he was younger. Studying his own reflection, Derek saw that he looked the same haggard twenty-three as he had come to recognize as himself. Around him, though, the ballroom appeared unscarred. No windows had been broken, no ceiling crumbled, no wall destroyed. It looked as if the fire had never happened, and for a moment a glimmer of hope resonated in Derek. What if this was reality? What if his mother was still alive, his whole family, his home never destroyed? But as quickly as it began, that light extinguished. Why wouldn’t he have graduated?_

_“What is that you’re holding?” He asked his mother. She held it up for him to see, a sad but playful smile on her face._

_“Your GED,” she said, “it may not be a diploma, but I think it’ll do you good. Build your confidence, you’ll see.”_

_That was it? The stupid test? Derek found himself growing angry, and guilty that he could even find such a feeling at his mother anymore._

_“A test, Mom? A stupid test?! That’s what you want to talk to me about?”_

_“Don’t shout, Derek,” She crooned, “voices always ricochet against these hallowed walls.”_

_“Mom, please!” Derek pleaded, “This isn’t what I need! I need to be stronger, for when they come!”_

_“You don’t think this will make you stronger?” She chided, so like a mother, “knowledge is a type of power, honey.”_

_“No!” Derek demanded, “I need to be in full form! I need to be... I need to be like...”_

_“Like?” His mother engaged._

_“Like Laura.” Derek finished. And like Peter, he almost said. But if he changed, he wouldn’t be like Peter. He couldn’t._

_“Laura,” His mother repeated wistfully, eyes shimmering with respect for her daughter, “Your sister was always brave, headstrong. She accepted everything, everyone, and always put others before herself.”_

_“You don’t think I’m brave?” Derek choked, insulted._

_“I think you’re afraid,” She said, which stung._

_“I am_ not _afraid of those alphas!” Derek seethed. His mother shook her head._

_“I’m sure you’re not, but that’s not what I meant.”_

_“How can I become a wolf?” Derek asked again, “I have to, or I won’t stand a chance.”_

_“My sweet, sweet boy. You’ll embrace rage as your ally and surrender your will to her wrath.”_

_“Who?” Whose wrath? Derek only wanted his mother’s wisdom again, but he couldn’t make sense of any of this._

_“Anger is not your strength,” she said._

_“You don’t understand,” Derek wrung his hands, “I don’t have anything else to anchor myself to! You’re all gone!”_

_The booklet in his mother’s hands burst into flame and fell to ashes at her feet._

_“Mom,_ please _!” Derek choked._

_“I warned you about the sun,” she held out her empty hand to him as she spoke, “Now you must find another means to tie yourself to this Earth.”_

_All he wanted was to hold her, to take her hand and drag her back into his world. Derek reached towards his mother, but the room erupted into fire before he even came close._

**Author's Note:**

> I have no beta wolf so this is where I apologize for all spelling and grammar errors. Gomen. Lo siento.


End file.
